


Born to Run

by flightlessons



Series: Flight Lessons [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Timelines, F/F, Incest, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Novel, Polyamory, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 52
Words: 180,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessons/pseuds/flightlessons
Summary: I decided to write more Flight Lessons. This takes place after the other three works. Not sure if you'll like it, but here it is. PTSD is a major theme, and there is a F/F relationship.





	1. Ain't No Grave

He heard screaming. A piercing, agonizing howl that filled the room and shook him. The room. He was in a room now, where moments before he’d—he’d been digging into a bowl of noodles on the crowded streets of Taiwan. He could still feel the small plastic chair. He still smelled the food. But he couldn’t see anything. No Taipei, no dinner, no—were they in danger? Oh god, what if something—?

The screaming persisted. From darkness came a blurred world. Mostly gray tones. It spun. Though he wanted to close his eyes as dizziness set in, he stubbornly refused. Cold. He felt cold. But not the soothing soft coolness of Heaven. Cold, along his back and surrounding him. He brought his knees together and found no cloth between them. Moments later, he could feel his hands, his body, his everything. 

The scream was coming from him. In an otherwise quiet room, he stifled it like pulling the plug on an old radio. Naked, exposed, and blinded, he tried to roll onto his side. It hurt, and something tugged on his left arm, preventing him from moving it much. He reached up to his wrist and found cold metal there. Fear shot through him and a terrible feeling grew in his stomach. He moaned. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Dean tried to think. Really think. Heaven didn’t have physical pain or even real discomfort. Nor did it have sudden, uncontrolled changes. So, the obvious conclusion was that he wasn’t in Heaven. A sob escaped his chest before he could prevent it. Opening his eyes again, he tried to focus them, blinking and then rubbing at them with his free hand. Eventually, he could make out items in the room. A series of empty metal tables—and the one he was on—medical supplies, cabinets, dull electric lighting. Some kind of lab or… or a mortuary. He sucked air into his lungs, for the first real time in what felt like decades. He was alive.

And alone. What about Sam? Cas? Were they still in the calming memory of Taiwan, wondering what happened to him? Worrying? Hurting? He yanked on the handcuff that kept him horizontal but found it solid. Like a trapped animal, he began searching the room for some way, any way, to escape his restraints. But his mind never wandered far from the implications. Were they here, too, somewhere? How the hell had he been brought back? And of course: why?

It took a surprising amount of energy and maneuvering to sit up on the table. When he did, he found that perhaps he’d been loosely covered by paper at one point, but it fell to the ground during his painful awakening. Otherwise, he wore nothing, not even the necklace that followed his soul upstairs. It was his body, however, or at least a very close likeness. He could make out the anti-possession tattoo, a handful of old scars, and—

With another pang of fear, he quickly checked for one of the hand-shaped scars on his arm. He traced its outline with his fingertips and exhaled heavily.

He twisted his body until his legs dangled over the edge of the table. Careful not to put his wrist in any danger, he tried to assess whether his legs would hold him. If they didn’t, the fall could certainly break his arm or dislocate his shoulder. If they did, he might be able to escape.

A hunch told him that his angel and soulmate weren’t still waiting in Heaven for his return. If they were here, wherever here was, he needed to find them, to protect them, and to figure things out with their help. Slowly, he lowered his feet down until they touched cold concrete. They felt weak, but with a little steadying from his arms, they held him. Every muscle protested, like they’d never been used before. 

Dean didn’t want to make too much noise, but since his screaming hadn’t brought anyone into the room, he took a chance. Slowly, he dragged the table toward a nearby counter. It made a metallic screeching noise as he did so. He began rifling through the drawers for anything useful. Gauze? No good. Tape? No. A roll of some kind of padding? No. Nervous and admittedly a little frightened, he checked the room’s only door for any sign of life but found none. In the next drawer, he located sharp implements, prepackaged: a scalpel, some type of medical pliers, and what appeared to be small saw blades. 

He picked up the pliers and ripped open the packaging with his teeth. The angle of the pointed ends sucked, but he could usually get out of cuffs like it was his job. If this didn’t work, Dean felt confident that he would find something that would. 

With resolve, he worked the tool into the lock, feeling around for the right pins to push that would release his arm, which already felt sore from all the movement and struggling. It wasn’t more than fifteen seconds before he had it off. He rubbed his wrist for a moment before continuing his search, this time, for clothing.

It took awhile—too long, he thought—but he eventually located what amounted to little more than a cloth hospital gown. Putting it on, he cinched it tight. Shortly after, he found some socks with extra gripping on them, but nothing more. He returned to the drawer with the implements and grabbed a scalpel to use as a meager form of protection, along with a second pair of pliers. Not a second later, he heard another scream. One he would recognize anywhere.

“Sammy?” he called out, but the painful screaming continued. If he had to hazard a guess, his soulmate was waking up in much the way he did: slowly, and with a heavy dose of confusion.

The sounds came from close by, probably the next room over. Though his every nerve told him to run for him, Dean forced himself to go slowly, to make sure he could get there without being found out. He carefully looked through the door’s small window to see if anyone was in the hallway. Seeing no movement, he tried the handle. It wasn’t locked and easily opened. He moved it a few inches to get an even better look of the hallway. He found it not only empty but almost abandoned. Piles of dirt on and a few papers on the floor. Lights flickering in places. It felt like the opening to a zombie movie.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.” But then, nothing about this felt good.

As the wailing continued, Dean moved more quickly toward the sound. He peeked inside the window. Though he spied a set of feet writhing on a nearly identical table, he saw no one and nothing else that moved. He gave in to a deep concern from Sam’s welfare and rushed into the room.

There, he found him fighting the restraints, kicking out, raising up from the table and then crashing down again. His eyes looked wild, his face contorted with anger and fear. He didn’t seem to notice his brother’s entry, nor was he aware of much. He also lay in the nude, a fact that Dean didn’t have the time or mindset to appreciate.

“Sammy?” He approached, but didn’t get too close for fear of being mistaken as an enemy. “Sammy?” he repeated. “Hey, buddy, it’s me. It’s me, Sammy.”

The man struggled for a few moments longer and then stopped abruptly. He didn’t relax so much as he froze. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” he thought he could cry. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“I can’t see you.” His voice trembled. “I can’t—”

He reached out and softly touched the side of his lover’s face. “I think… I think you will be able to, soon. Give it a little bit. I think that one’s on a delay.”

Sam blinked, but his eyes still looked vacant. “Where—where are we? Dean, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Some kind of hospital maybe.” Or a morgue. “But there’s no one around. I haven’t seen anyone else.” He picked up the hand that chained Sam down and set about trying to free him. It didn’t take long. “Don’t try to get up yet. You might hurt yourself.”

He grabbed Dean’s hand and gripped it tightly. “It hurts,” he groaned. “We’re not where we belong.” Before he could think of a reply to that, Sam continued. “Where’s Cas? Dean, where’s Cas? We have to find him. He’s alone. We can’t let him be alone.”

Dean wasn’t even sure Cas had been brought here, or if it was even possible, given that he didn’t have a soul. Not that the former hunter had any idea how they could’ve been plucked from Heaven and somehow placed in bodies that looked and felt like theirs. He didn’t know how much time had passed since their death, but it certainly wasn’t days or even weeks. It’d easily been years, yet their forms showed no signs of decomposition and no evidence of their final wounds.

“We have to look for him,” Sam’s voice cut into his thoughts.

When Dean looked down, he found that his brother had regained at least part of his sight, and that he seemed absolutely devastated by their situation. Unlike his soulmate, Sam had dirt smudged across his chest. Dean had to look away, for fear of breaking down, too.

“We will,” was all he could say at first. Then, “Let’s get you some clothes, and we’ll see if we can find him.” Part of him hoped Cas had been spared of this. Though he would be a wreck in Heaven, at least he wouldn’t be in danger or in pain. Another part couldn’t handle being away from him, and he secretly wished they would locate him in the next room.

He got neither answer quickly. Once Sam donned a similar gown—and later a doctor’s jacket they found—the duo began to search the other rooms nearby. Half a dozen very similar, very unsettling spaces yielded nothing and no one. Not even any evidence to speak of as to how they got here—no remnants of spells or special items or anything like that. They checked the whole floor, which seemed to be a basement level of a much larger building. Along the way, they gathered anything that could be used as a weapon and took a moment to drink a substantial amount of water from one of the lab’s faucets. 

As they headed for the stairs, Sam stopped, and he grew pale. 

“What’s wrong?” his brother asked immediately, turning toward him.

“We have to check the elevator.”

“The what? No, that’ll give us away if there’s anyone in the building. The stairs are better. C’mon.” He took hold of him by the shoulder and tried to usher him forward, but he didn’t budge.

He shook his head. “No, I mean, we need to check it. There’s something. There’s something in it.”

“Cas?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” He bit into his lip and looked over at the closed elevator door. “The cab’s on this floor already.”

Dean didn’t bother to ask him how he knew that. There were no signs or lights that indicated where the elevator had stopped, and no noises to think it might be moving. But in life, Sammy just knew things. He sensed other people, specifically their pain and to a lesser extent their emotions. By the sound of it, he could sense something in there, but it wasn’t something he understood.

He considered trying to pry it open, but with no substantial tools to aid the process, and the two of them feeling fairly weak, he opted for the riskier option. Holding his breath, Dean pressed the up button.

As the door slid open with some squeaking, he heard Sam cry out before he could even register what he saw. A body. It lay on a padded gurney and was covered in a single layer of paper with just the feet sticking out. It could’ve been him. It certainly had the right proportions, but without looking—

The doors began to close automatically, and he had to jump forward to stop them. Inside, he pressed the emergency stop button. Though every part of his being really didn’t want to look, he owed it to them both. His hand shook as he took hold of the paper and pulled it down. He covered his mouth and backed up against the cab’s wall. “Shit.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he heard his brother say from out in the hall. 

He nodded, more for himself than for Sam. “Kinda. It looks like him, but it’s not…” His voice trailed off. Alive. “Help me get it out of here.”

Though it seemed Sam could hardly move or function, he appeared nonetheless and helped roll the body out. Dean reversed the emergency button, walked out, and watched the doors close. Sam could take no more. He collapsed, sliding down the wall into a sitting position on the floor. Tears streamed down his face.

Dean’s head swam with opposing views on what this could mean, but he didn’t immediately have a good answer. “There’s a lot of reasons he could be like this,” he tried to sound comforting. “Maybe they couldn’t take him. They—they made the body, but they couldn’t steal him from upstairs.”

Sam sniffed. He didn’t buy it.

He took another look at the corpse. It was pure white. Dark circles around the eyes. Lips dried and cracked. It sent a shiver through him. “Or maybe it didn’t take.”

“Then what? What if he can’t get back to Heaven without us there?!”

He moved over to Sam and sat down next to him. He put his hand on the man’s knee. “We don’t know anything, yet.” It wasn’t much of a reassurance. “We have to just figure this thing out.”

After a long pause, “I don’t wanna be here, Dean.” 

It was a loaded statement. Of course, neither of them wanted to stay in this eerie basement, waiting for something or someone to discover them. Nor did they particularly want to sit next to a body that looked like their angel—though it would have been equally difficult to leave him. But Sam didn’t want to be here in the being alive sense. Heaven was, well, Heaven. It was beautiful and fun and perfect. It had all three of them together, forever. It had a seemingly endless supply of riskless adventures, supplied by Cas’s millennia of memories. It had nothing dangerous to speak of. And, most importantly, it had no pain.

Both of them hurt. Either from the process of their return or just being accustomed to the purity of their afterlife, their bodies felt heavy, smothering—almost itchy. And their emotions easily turned to sadness and fear, which, while possible in Heaven, were only fleeting feelings. They mostly just knew love and contentment there. Safety.

God, why did they go from having a peaceful dinner to this? And who did it? He didn’t even care how at this point. He just wanted to get back to the time they had before. 

And Sam, perhaps unsurprisingly, wanted to make it happen. In life, he’d been the weakest link in terms of wanting to stay alive if it meant doing so without either of his two companions. He couldn’t handle the idea, and when it came down to it, he didn’t. Part of Dean still couldn’t believe that he took his own life to join him in what came afterwards, but he’d come to accept it somewhat. Cas coming to join them would’ve been inevitable at that point, having lost them both. But he wished they’d had more time, all three of them.

He pulled his soulmate close and kissed him near his temple. “I know. But we need to find out what’s going on with Cas before we can go anywhere. What if he—” And then he had it. “Shit, it’s not his time yet.”

“What?” came weakly.

“I woke up before you did. It didn’t take long, but there was a delay.” He stared at a random point past the body. “Like there was a delay when we—when we checked out.” Gulping, “Cas didn’t even hear about it for at least a couple hours, and then I think it took a few more. If we’re waking up in order, with the times right, then he just isn’t here yet.”

Another sniff. “So, what, we just wait here for him to wake up? And then what?”

“I dunno, Sammy.” He sighed. “I don’t know what kind of hospital has a whole floor abandoned. I don’t know why nothing’s come after us or why we’re here or any of it. For all I know, the whole damn world’s gone apocalyptic. I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m scared, man.” He moved a little closer. “But I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up. And we can’t leave him. So, we just have to stay put for a little while.” And what’s more, he wasn’t certain that they could get back to Heaven via suicide even if they both wanted to. What if it closed up shop? Anything was possible.

“Okay,” was all he said in return.


	2. Welcome to the Jungle

His stomach started to rumble at the two-hour mark, but Sam practically clung to him, and he didn’t think he’d have much luck trying to find food, anyway. At least not on this level. As for his brother, he just seemed really weak physically. Tired. Worried. There were few sounds—pretty much just the buzzing of a light now and then and their own breathing. The eerie quiet only served to put them more on edge.

When Cas’s body loudly inhaled, they both jumped.

Dean recovered sooner, and waited for the screaming to start—but none came. A hand did move, eventually, and it grabbed the side of the gurney. After what felt like several minutes, the rest of the body began to twist and turn in discomfort. He wasn’t tied down or anything. Dean feared he might fall off, so he rushed to the angel’s side and placed one arm across his chest. “Shh,” he managed. “It’s okay.”

The body relaxed. When its eyes opened, there could be no doubt. It really was Cas. He forced the barest hints of a smile. “Dean.”

Sam made his way to the other side of him, and Cas produced a slightly larger smile.

But it faded quickly enough. He began to look around in confusion and then fear flashed across his face. “What are we doing here?”

“We don’t even know where here is,” Sam supplied. “We just—woke up.”

Dean kept a good hold on the angel. “But we’re gonna figure it out, okay?” He looked up at his brother. “We’ve been in shittier situations than this, and we got through it together.” He paused to compose himself. Sam may look terrified, but Dean didn’t feel much better. “How you doin, Cas?”

“Hurts.”

“Think you could walk?”

After a moment to think it over, he nodded. Slowly, Cas lifted himself up, with help. He swiveled and slid off the gurney. He wobbled in place for a moment, but Dean held him tightly. He turned to his soulmate. “Clothes,” was all he needed to say. The younger man took off for a nearby room to search for something their angel could wear.

Another gown. Sam handed over his jacket, too, in an attempt to warm him up. It was a little tight on him anyway. Cas looked terrible. Worse than either of them by a long shot. His skin was still so pale. His breathing seemed labored. He really didn’t look good.

Dean considered using the elevator for its intended purpose, but given the spotty electricity, he worried they might get stuck. Stairs, then. But it would be rough on Cas, who shivered even after donning the meager clothing options.

Still, he had two stronger individuals who could do most of the work for him. He leaned on Dean for support, and Sam walked behind them should either one of them slip. They took the steps one at a time. Slowly. Cas suppressed reactions to pain throughout his new body, but both of the Winchesters could easily tell. When they go to the next floor—the ground level as seen by some natural sunlight filtering in—they set him down in a wheelchair.

Dean left him in Sam’s care as he went to investigate. While this level, too, appeared abandoned, it was not terribly creepy. Enough sunlight shown in from various entrances for them to know that it was in fact daytime. He walked up to one of the doors and tried to open it. Locked. Because of course it was. He peered outside. No signs of scorched earth or zombie hoards or anything like that. Just a chain-link fence that quite possibly circled the entire property.

In other words, they were simply in a recently closed building. Someone had turned on the lights, but whoever that someone was, they didn’t seem to be here any longer.

He returned to his companions with a slightly brighter outlook and explained what he believed to be their situation. “I think we should try to find better clothes, maybe something to eat.” They needed their strength if they planned to get moving. They had no IDs, no money, no anything. They could certainly steal a car, but it would be easier if they didn’t look like they stumbled out of a psych ward.

Cas’s eyelids were drooping a little, and it looked like he might pass out. Dean shot a glance up Sam. “Is he—can you—Can you still heal?”

He nodded. “I think so, but I feel like I’m low on power. It’s still there, but it’s not charged.”

With a thought, Dean found his wings. They were curled up around his inner self like an angelic burrito, but with a little effort he managed to bring them out again. At least there was that. “Is he gonna be okay? He doesn’t look very good.”

Sam touched the angel and closed his eyes. “I think he’s just drained, too. Like all of our juice got zapped and we have to let it build up again.”

“Right.” So, his wings probably wouldn’t be able to take them anywhere. Not that he would know where to go. How much time had passed? The hospital didn’t seem all that more technologically advanced than the ones from when they lived, but maybe that was why it got shut down. He didn’t think it could be more than fifty years since they died, but he really didn’t know. Maybe knowing _when_ they were would be even more helpful than where. “Let’s get searching. Anything useful. Food especially, but clothes, weapons, valuables, whatever.” He immediately headed for the front desk.

Sam hesitated as Cas drifted into an impromptu nap. He ran his fingers through the angel’s hair before focusing on the task at hand. He headed toward what seemed to be a staff-only area, where he hoped to find some leftover clothing.

A few minutes into his search, he heard Dean from behind the desk. “Two-thousand twenty-five!” he shouted. The calendar next to a dusty computer said March 2025. Of course, it could be a year or two old, but that gave them a much better understanding. They’d only been gone for ten years.

His brother poked his head out of a room down the hall and held up a pile of scrubs that he thought might fit them. “No hovercars?” he called back.

“Doubtful.”

Sam walked up with his discovery. Most of the stuff had patterns and designs that Dean would probably hate, but it beat not having pants. And they could certainly pretend to be doctors or nurses, especially with that coat Cas had on. They dropped their search to pick through the pile.

The only matching set of clothing that fit Sam made him look like a surgeon, dressed in all dark blue. He also found a decent pair of sneakers in the lost-and-found. If he grabbed a stethoscope, he really would look like a doctor on-call. Dean had more difficulty. The only pants that fit him were clearly women’s, in a burgundy color. He already looked embarrassed, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. Thankfully, he did find a regular black t-shirt with a worn design on the front. He also sifted through a pile of hospital-issue rubber sandals and selected one pair each for him and Cas.

As for the angel, they woke him up just enough to get him into a pair of sweatpants and a patterned top—also women’s scrubs—that was slightly ripped at the shoulder. It didn’t look like he’d be walking any time soon, but if they had to wheel him out of there, they would. In the meantime, they replaced the jacket with a warmer blanket and let him go back to sleep.

In one of the lockers, Sam discovered an unopened box of granola bars, with an expiration date also in 2025. They might be stale, he thought, but possibly still edible. He brought the box over to Dean, who dug in unceremoniously. “How are they?” Sam asked, suspicious.

“Tastes like cardboard,” he said with his mouth full, “But I’d eat the box at this point.”

Sam didn’t share his giant appetite. But then, Dean’s wings did need more energy than his healing power. Maybe his body responded accordingly, to help with the recharge. In that case, he’d better eat something, too. With a grimace, he grabbed one package—chocolate and peanut butter flavor—opened it and took a bite. Chewy. But not even terribly stale. He forced himself to eat the whole thing.

They saved a couple for Cas, but didn’t wake him. It seemed like he needed sleep more than food at this point, and they didn’t want to interrupt it quite yet.

With more searching, they found some protein bars meant specifically for diabetics and a very dusty can of chicken noodle soup. Dean swiped a watch from inside one of the desks. He wasn’t sure it would be worth anything, but no one else was using it. There was a wallet with twenty bucks in it and a debit card. They took that, too. And a bunch of the blankets and shirts. All of these went into some sap’s old gym bag, which Dean threw over his back as they prepared to depart.

Sam dealt with the door while his soulmate was packing, and he also took charge of Cas’s mobility.

The angel awoke as they crossed the parking lot to the fence. It was the temporary type put up around abandoned or destroyed places. More of a “No Trespassing” sign than a real deterrent. They simply lifted it and drove the wheelchair under.

From there, the decided to walk south, which seemed to be a less populated area. They would need supplies, so they couldn’t stray too far from society, but stealing a car in broad daylight would be tricky anywhere, let alone inside city limits.

It didn’t take long to find out where they were. Detroit. It was emblazoned on signage everywhere. The city looked much the same as it had the last time the brothers had been there—sans Cas—albeit maybe a little nicer. Less burned-out and abandoned houses. Despite coming from an abandoned hospital, Dean thought with surprise that the city itself seemed to be doing better.

There were a few minor differences in the modern cars. Overly rounded or boxy. More electric and hybrids.

Hovering didn’t seem to be available.

He kept his eyes peeled for an older model, something he knew how to break into and hotwire. If anything would change over ten years, electronics would be high on the list. And he wasn’t exactly an electrician. He also didn’t have a gun or any real weapon. A scalpel was just slightly more useful than a pencil in defense. He wouldn’t be able to fly them out of a bad situation, and Cas could hardly walk. Dean had to be so incredibly careful about their next move.

But a car could provide many things. Not just transport. If they needed to sleep somewhere tonight, and it was a choice between under a bridge or inside a car, the car would be immeasurably safer and warmer. By the trees, it was probably early fall. An especially warm day. The nights could still be frigid, and he didn’t want to take any chances with his cohorts looking so sickly.

They ducked into an alley and eyed the options. With a sick satisfaction, Dean chose a gray Crown Victoria. Mid-90s. Easy to get into and to start. But the choice had everything to do with the fact that this brand of car killed him. Sure, the semi and its cargo technically caused the devastation, but the Crown Vic cut off the semi, and gave Dean what he thought was a one-way ticket to the afterlife. It wasn’t the same color or year, but he didn’t care. He would have his revenge.

The back, driver’s side window had been left partially open, enough so that Sam could get his arm inside and pull on the lock knob to open the door. Once in, he got to work. His record was under two minutes, but this took more like four. The car sputtered to a start. Not the strongest vehicle in the world, and the gas mileage was probably terrible, but it was still a car. Sam helped Cas into the back seat and put the wheelchair in the truck. He jumped in the passenger side, and Dean drove off.

He wouldn’t take them out of the city, but he would get them in a completely different part of it, as a precaution. As Dean drove, Sam kept his attention on Cas, pressuring him to eat and generally keeping an eye on him. With a little sugar in his system, the angel roused somewhat from his stupor. “Why are we here?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

But Dean had been thinking it over. “Best I can figure, either there’s trouble upstairs, or there’s trouble down here. We got kicked out or—or someone really wants us for something.”

“All three of us?” The angel hadn’t sensed any problems within the Kingdom, so he had to assume it was the latter. But he didn’t understand what he could possibly be used for. He had no angelic abilities really, nor many human ones. Unless, the culprits wanted him as a buffer. He _was_ good at the Winchesters, at helping and loving them. Maybe they thought he was part of a complete unit. Or that the brothers would be too distraught without him. 

On the other hand, the two famous hunters, one of which a powerful healer, had abilities worth resurrecting. If there was a big bad out there somewhere, and a person or creature thought they could help, it would only take the means of resurrection. As far as Cas knew, only angels could do it, but there were many things he didn’t know. A strong witch or a demigod might be able to get the job done, provided they had power rivaling that of a full angel.

Whoever did it, he didn’t trust that the act was done with good intentions. At the very least, they would be put into danger or killed. In the end, if nothing was wrong with the Kingdom, that might not be the worst thing, but there were ways to kill a soul. And even if that didn’t happen, they might still have to watch each other be in pain and die—again. He felt nauseous at the thought.

“I guess,” was Dean’s answer. “We’re kind of a packaged deal.”

“I don’t like it,” Cas said plainly. “To pull us back here with nothing, not even an explanation? Are we supposed to just wait around until they come find us and tell us what gives? And hope that it’s not something terrible?”

Sam reached back and touched the angel’s arm. “We’re together. That’s the important part.”

Dean nodded. “And I think whoever it was got interrupted. Sam and I were pretty much in the same position, just in different rooms. You were in a damn elevator car. En route, you know? I think the person or thing or whatever intended on being there when we woke up.”

“Then there might be something after us already,” Sam surmised. “Something that either doesn’t want us here or doesn’t like whatever did this to us.”

“Maybe,” the older Winchester turned back to his thoughts. There were so many variables to consider, but he didn’t have much time to think it over. They had immediate needs: food, money, shelter, and protection. Weapons. Real clothes. A warm meal. In the moment, he cared about these things more because he knew his companions needed them. “Let’s try to get a motel room or something and then go from there.” He pulled out the found bank card and showed it to both of them. “Bets on whether or not this still works?”

If it didn’t, he’d have to steal one. He didn’t mind, really, but it would be a dick move to the person getting ripped off. And that kind of theft was becoming more and more traceable back when they were alive. It might send up a big red flag now. Back in the day, they just applied for fraudulent credit cards under fake names and such, usually only stiffing the companies themselves. It was a lesser crime in his mind.

But their needs came first. He wasn’t above stealing, as their new ride proved. He’d been doing it since he was old enough to carry something out of a store. He put away that skillset when they retired, and of course didn’t need or want it in Heaven, but here? Now? He would provide.

They picked the third motel he saw. He backed the vehicle into a spot as far away from major foot traffic as possible. With the license plate facing a brick wall, it would be more of a pain in the ass for cops to see it. If the stolen car did cause a problem, they would abandon it immediately.

Dean and Dean alone went to the front desk to get the room. No need to provide more faces for easy identification. And anyway, he felt better knowing that Sam was watching over Cas. Ten minutes later, he emerged victorious, with a big smile on his face. Guy didn’t ID him or even really seem to care if the card was his or not. The only downside was that their angel would have to climb a bunch of stairs to get to the room. Sam immediately set about helping him make the climb.

By the time they got settled in, the sun was setting.

Though he’d grown accustomed to just going out and buying food, he didn’t dare use the card for fear of it running out quicker. Twenty bucks wouldn’t get much from a grocery store, but it could buy a few cheap burgers—at least, ten years ago it could. Sam wouldn’t love the food. He didn’t like damn near anything you could get from a drive-thru. But in this case, maybe he would make an exception.

When he explained the idea to the others, Cas’s face lit up. Sam noticed that immediately and quickly acquiesced. Dean took off for the nearest fast food chain, vowing to get something more substantial in the morning.

***

He wasted no time jumping into bed with Cas. Not for sex, unfortunately, as the angel was not up to it and probably wouldn’t be for some time. But Sam didn’t need it. They were together intimately in Heaven every day. Without any fumbling or much of the earthly concerns associated with having a good time. Perhaps the sensations were a little dulled there, but not enough for him to feel any less satisfied.

The healer only intended to hasten his angel’s recovery. The greasy food would help—somehow—but so would a small amount of physical contact. He sat next to him, their backs propped up with pillows. With the soft glow of the room’s TV on his face, Cas leaned on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Sam’s own. Looking up with a sleepy expression, he kissed him sweetly.

“Do you miss this?” Cas asked eventually.

What, being scared and sleeping in grungy motels? Not even a little. But their life? Being alive and healing people? Most of it could still be accomplished in paradise, but there were definitely parts he missed. The helping complete strangers part. Running a business. Meeting new people—real ones. “Yeah, a little.” He sighed. “I like people. I like making their lives better.” Before Cas could answer, “You and Dean are more important, though.”

“I understand, Sam,” he said right away. “You had a very important role, and you were so proud of what you did, with every reason to be. And you made a difference in so many people’s lives. Saved people, either directly or by proxy.” He kissed him again. “It’s hard not to wonder what will become of us here. Something’s coming, I think. Something big. But if we survive it, we might have a chance to make a few more memories.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. That by being alive again they could actually _live_ again. And then, hopefully, return to the serenity and beauty of Heaven. It might not just be a struggle. It could also be a second chance.

“Do _you_ miss this? Being alive, I mean.” Sam returned.

He laughed. “The human part was pretty great. But most of what made it great was you two, so I’m happy either way, so long as it’s the three of us.” Then, “I do miss Rosa a little. At the end, she was kinda like a sister to me.” Not just because he mentored her. There were only two human-angel hybrids that Castiel knew of, and it was the two of them. Very different circumstances. But he still felt connected to her because of that.

Sam smiled a little. Cas and Rosa hated each other so much in the beginning. They were pretty much best friends by the time the angel left her. “Maybe we can track her down,” Sam suggested. “Bobby and Ellen are a safer bet, though. And they’re way less likely to have moved.”

True, and Dean would definitely want to check in with them and possibly elicit their help with whatever they were up against now. “Should we call them?”

The healer shrugged. “I honestly don’t remember their number—or any phone numbers. Once we didn’t need them anymore, I guess I just cleared them out.” He wondered if Dean was the same. “But even then, they might not think it’s really us. A lot of things can sound like anyone on the phone. And we’re dead. Really dead. As far as anyone knows. I’m sure he would have come to the funeral. He would have made sure we were gone.”

“If we just show up, he might think the same.” Like when he thought Dean was being used as a vessel. “We’d have to be really careful.”

Nodding, Sam kissed the side of his head. “We’ll figure it out. Part of me doesn’t want to get their hopes up, you know, if we’re only back for a little while.” He grimaced. He could only imagine how bad their deaths must’ve been on him. Could they really do it to him again?

“I think he’d like to see you.”

“Yeah.” After a moment, “And Rosa probably misses you a ton. Not sure she’d admit it, but I bet she does.”

Cas snuggled up a little closer and closed his eyes. “I love you.”

Something about hearing it with real ears made Sam’s eyes well up. “I love you so much.”


	3. Dark Necessities

Their cheap dinner was enough to satisfy the three of them for the evening, and leftover protein bars made an okay breakfast, but if they wanted to eat for lunch and beyond, Dean needed to get the food. Somehow. Sam offered to help, and Cas didn’t seem to mind just hanging out and recovering, but he wanted to do this himself. As much because he missed being a provider and because he didn’t necessarily want them to watch him act like a criminal.

He didn’t intend on taking a soft approach to it, either. If he couldn’t get enough through shoplifting, he would steal cards. If those ran out, he’d break into a place. Short of mugging or killing innocent people, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to ensure Sam and Cas’s continued survival.

So, he decided to start small. He found a small corner store that looked like it wouldn’t have much security. When he walked in, he gave the clerk a nod before weaving through the aisles. Junk food was the easiest. Candy, pre-packaged cakes, beef jerky, etc. While he grabbed a few of those, tucking them into the waistband of the only pair of pants he currently owned, he knew they would need more of that. He spotted a cooler full of sandwiches and salads. One sandwich for him and one for Cas. The salad, however, would be impossible to steal unless he just tried to run with it, which would be a terrible idea and probably result in him losing all the other items. Luckily, he had just enough money left over from dinner to pay for it. Though he didn’t want to spend too much time with the clerk, he did want to get Sam something he’d actually enjoy eating.

“Anything else?” asked the man. He had a pretty thick accent and an event thicker pair of glasses. Dean felt a pang of guilt over stealing from this man. But the need to feed his family outweighed any tugging from his conscience.

“Nope.” Then, as he was ringing it up, “Actually, do you have like a fork or something? Plasticware?” Unless he wanted Sam to eat all that grass with his hands.

“Ah!” The clerk reached under the counter and produced a little package with cutlery and a paper napkin.

Dean smiled at him. “Thanks.” He turned to leave, but the man’s voice stopped him. He thought about sprinting to the car.

“Your change!”

He breathed a sigh of relief. Returning, he collected the twenty-three cents, thanked him again, and quickly left. It wasn’t until he was safely in the driver’s seat—parked more than a block away—that he unloaded his bounty. Everything felt a little warm thanks to being so close to his skin, but at least it would be real food.

When he got back, he found a surprise. A pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts lay folded neatly on the bed. He dropped the food nearby and carefully sat down the salad. “What’s this?”

Sam smiled. I took the card and got a few things at a thrift store. It was only about fifteen bucks total, and we got a ton of clothes.”

“And toothbrushes!” Cas chimed in.

Dean’s first instinct was to be angry or annoyed, but he really couldn’t complain. The scrubs he’d been wearing for more than a day made him stand out, and jeans actually had pockets in which to hide things. He noticed that the other two had on regular clothing, as well. They seemed more relaxed.

As the duo dug into the spoils of his petty theft, Dean immediately stripped off the borrowed clothes and tried on the new ones. The jeans actually fit pretty well—a little loose around the waist, but not too bad. Sam had his proportions pretty much memorized for all sorts of reasons, so he made a good call. It wasn’t until Dean was satisfied with his new look that he sat down to eat with them.

Neither of them asked how he got so much food. Sam already knew, more or less, and Cas didn’t seem to care. The haul was a bountiful one, and they were grateful.

***

The next day, Dean wanted to head out early. He had a giant shopping list, which included medical supplies, toiletries, and possibly even a gun, but his soulmate had other plans. The shower could just barely fit two people at once, and he absolutely wanted to try. Cas hardly left the bed for long, so while he couldn’t join them, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean had to say yes. All it took was one look from Sam, and they were in the warm water moments later. After a few moments to actually get each other clean, the free bar of soap traversing even the most delicate of places, the two quickly descended into a full on make-out session. Dean ended up pressed against the cold tile wall while the younger man’s hands expertly toyed with him. With Sam’s face buried in his neck, he let out a laugh. Everything was mind-blowingly perfect.

Unlike in Heaven, where he could go exactly as long as he wanted, the real world didn’t quite work that way. The difference in temperature helped prolong his ecstasy. But to feel Sam against him, using his whole body but doing practically nothing? Oh, god. He couldn’t hold out any longer.

Sam released him, and Dean leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. When he looked at his soulmate again, the guy was grinning. “Easy,” he teased.

“Maybe.”

They finished cleaning, kissed for a while, and then started their day.

***

He couldn’t find a mom and pop pharmacy to save his life. In the end, he chose a chain store. It would be heavily recorded, but if he could get out with the stuff, they might not know until he was already gone. It was a risk. With all their recent success, though, he felt anything but rusty.

And now he had more places to put the stolen merchandise.

Keeping an eye out for security, he walked nonchalantly around the store. He picked up a bottle of vitamins and pretended to study it. The next moment, he pocketed a bottle of OTC painkillers. Though he spent some time in the snack aisle, he didn’t grab anything there. Only meds and first aid stuff. The expensive razors were off limits because they always set off the alarms. The trio would just have to go scruffy until he got some actual cash. But toothpaste was easy, and he got a few other travel-sized items. With no money to buy anything, he slowly made his way for the exit. And then his heart sank.

“Stop right there,” said a middle-aged white man, dressed not as a security guard but as a police officer. Dean didn’t have to turn to see him. He’d spotted the cop hitting on one of the pharmacists earlier but assumed, wrongfully, that he wouldn’t be noticed. “Lift up your hands.”

Shit. He complied. Craning his neck, he watched the cop approach, hand on his gun—still in the holster, though, which would make it near impossible to take it off him. He carefully lifted Dean’s shirt to reveal a large tube of toothpaste in his back pocket. “Were you plannin’ to pay for that?”

Dean smiled. “Must’ve put it there by accident.” And removed it from its box. A normal security guard approached as the cop gave him a pat down—and found a host of items he’d swiped off the shelves. He tried to seem nonchalant.

“Way I see it, you can pay for all these, and never show your ass around here again, or—we can talk about this at the station.”

His trickster attitude faded. What a shitty ultimatum. Rich kids doing it for the thrill would get off every time, and people who actually needed the stuff would get brought up on charges. There were a lot of poor people in this city. And he was probably getting treated better than most of them, given his skin tone. He didn’t care that he would be arrested, but that approach pissed him off.

“Fresh outta cash,” he replied, keeping calm. He’d been arrested dozens of times for one thing or another. This was probably his fifth shoplifting arrest. He considered himself a pro, but no one was perfect. And anyway, he had no ID. No one here knew him. He could give them any name he wanted, and they wouldn’t be able to prove it wasn’t him. The stolen car was two blocks away this time, and it really didn’t look like the type of car anyone would want.

They would take his prints, of course, but a petty theft charge was unlikely to result in a speedy check against any national database. He’d be out before they suspected he wasn’t just some guy looking for a discount.

The cop brought his arms down somewhat forcefully and cuffed them behind his back. “What’s your name?” When he didn’t immediately answer, the guy shook him. “You heard me. What’s your name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean what?”

He had a thousand possibilities. But an idea popped into his head. Sam would hate it, but it could work. “Winchester.” The word slid off his tongue with more than a little pride attached to it. How long had it been since he’d told anyone that was his name? Long before they died. Years even. It felt good.

“Okay, Dean Winchester. Let’s go.” The cop dragged him outside to his car and put him in the back. Silently, he was a little disappointed that the guy had never heard of him.

At the station, they searched him fairly quickly and brought him up to a machine. It would read his prints directly and immediately send them off for comparisons. An improvement over the years that admittedly he didn’t know about. They would find Dean Winchester with that, and a number of other Deans that would make his stay here a little longer. And he had no way of contacting his lovers. Sure, there was a hotel room phone, but he didn’t know the number, and even if he did, dialing it would give them up in no time at all. He searched his head for any other numbers he might still remember but came up empty.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter.

Hunters dealt heavily with law enforcement. They had so many run-ins, they were good at wriggling their way out of a jam. But more importantly, a few of them had friendly family members in the field, monitoring, constantly and in secret, for anything involving a hunter. This fucker might not know who Dean Winchester was, but someone out there did, and news of his survival would travel fast.

People would come to investigate, either to disprove it was really him or to meet the guy who cheated death (twice, technically).

In the long run, this might actually help them.

For now, they would discover the information on their own while he sat in a cell and waited.

***

Sam didn’t take Dean being late lightly, and he immediately suspected something was wrong. Nothing affected their bond, so he wasn’t dead or even hurt, but when he didn’t return mid-day as promised, Sam had to work to calm down. Eventually, he ran through the possible causes in his head. Most creepy crawlies would have hurt him already. Car trouble would just result in him stealing a different vehicle. A positive opportunity—like a chance to steal a weapon—probably wouldn’t take more than an hour.

So, it had to be cops. For an accomplished thief and general law-breaker, Dean got caught a lot. Usually by small time local sheriffs, who he enjoyed messing with. Typically, he’d be out in a few hours, and they would simply skip town.

But he always called his “lawyer,” who had a burner phone. Which they didn’t have. If police were the issue here, Sam had no idea where Dean was even being held, nor what they wielded in discovering his identity or getting him to tell the truth. And even if he did know, he couldn’t just walk in to a station and inquire about his brother’s whereabouts. That required suits and realistic fake IDs and a whole host of other stuff they didn’t have. How would he even get there? With another stolen car? That would be a great thing to park in front of a police station.

They might just have to wait it out for now. In a few days, Dean’s wings should be fully charged, and he could simply escape. Sam could get Cas into proper health by then, and they would figure it out from there. He told himself that Dean knew what he was doing, knew how to handle cops, and that he would be fine. Maybe he didn’t believe it, but for Cas he would.

***

He came in from the yard, wiping the oil off his hands with an old rag. He’d been tinkering with the same old Corvette for the last three days, and it still wasn’t running. If he could get it to work, fix it up a little more, he could sell the thing at auction for a pretty penny.

In the hallway, he found El on the phone, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He moved to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and sitting down.

When he looked up at her again, she stood there motionless, the phone dangling at her side in loose fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach. He’d seen that look before. Every time a hunter they knew got themselves killed. “Who is it this time?” he asked slowly.

“What?” was all she said at first.

“Who died?”

But his wife shook her head. “No, it’s—there’s somebody…” It took her a moment, but eventually she composed herself. Breathing in deeply, “There’s somebody in Detroit lockup claiming to be Dean Winchester.”

The blood drained from his face. He scoffed. “The real Dean Winchester would never use his real fucking name. And he’s dead.” Very dead. His heart ached just thinking about it. Too young, he thought, and not even from a hunt or anything they expected. But it was an open casket, and that casket contained a dead Dean Winchester. His hand shook as he took another drink.

But she didn’t calm down in the slightest. “Garth says they ran his prints, that they matched to him and a bunch of the aliases.”

“It ain’t him,” he argued. “It might look like him, but it sure as hell ain’t him.”

Ellen set the phone down and paced over to him. “What if it is?”

“It’s not.”

She gulped. “People _can_ come back from the dead. Don’t you think it’s worth checking out, at least? If it’s something else, then it needs to be taken care of. If it’s really him—God.”

Bobby thought that he would rather stick his hand in the wood chipper than deal with a creature that looked like that kid. Because he might have to kill it. He could do it, but he sure as hell didn’t want to. “Can’t we just send Garth or something to look into it?”

“We could, but he’s all the way down in Arizona. We’re a helluva lot closer, and you’re better at dealing with police than he is.”

“I’ll miss a bunch of meetings,” he pointed out. Thirteen-hour drive each way, plus stops and however long the job would take meant a lot of time away from home. Away from treatment.

Three years sober. Not a drop of alcohol in the house. Not even beer. It was pretty much a miracle considering his wife was a former bar owner, and he practically prided himself in being an alcoholic at one time. But the stuff started killing his liver. Probably the rest of him, too. Ellen threatened to leave if he didn’t get help—she wouldn’t watch him die—so he put in ninety days at a rehab center slash yoga addicts’ paradise. It was rough, and for a while he went to meetings every day in an attempt to get a handle on this thing. He still went several times per week, but as his life found some stability, resisting temptation became easier. He hadn’t touched the stuff since he agreed to stop.

He sure as hell wanted a drink now. The thought of something like a demon walking around in a Dean-shaped meat bag made him nauseous and deeply disturbed. He raised that damn kid. They had no right.

Then, he’d put an end to it. Sighing, “I’ll get my shit.”


	4. Cult of Personality

When they dragged his ass into an interrogation room, Dean kept a smile painted on his face. He would enjoy this part.

It wasn’t the arresting officer but another middle-aged white man, this time in a suit and tie, that sat across from him in the poorly lit room. The man introduced himself as Detective Richard Thomas. What a boring name. He briefed him on his rights and told him the conversation would be taped. At that, the hunter looked up at the two-way mirror and winked. He sincerely hoped he had a sizable audience.

With that, the detective began. “You have a very, very long list of arrests, more than a dozen warrants, and zero court appearances.”

“Yeah,” he laughed.

“You think it’s funny? You’re here for life, buddy. We’re gonna pin your ass to the wall.”

Another laugh. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m sure you’ll be popular.” The guy leaned back. “A face like that in maximum security.”

Probably, but they’d never keep him here at the jail for more than a couple days, let alone convict him of anything. Still, a cop fantasizing about him being raped in prison wasn’t exactly something he enjoyed hearing or wanted to tolerate. He lunged forward in his seat—only a few inches—and banged his cuffs on the table. It produced the desired effect, to make the detective jump in his chair and unnerve him.

He chuckled. “I’m not going to prison,” Dean said confidently. “Do you really think you’re gonna be able to keep me here?”

A single drop of sweat traced a path down the side of Thomas’s face. He was in over his head. “What, you got friends on the outside ready to bust you out? Good luck.”

He leaned in as far as his restraints would allow and took his voice down a notch in volume. “You don’t even know what’s coming.” By now, he felt certain that he’d alerted several hunters, and there was always a possibility of demons, angels, etc. perking up at the mere mention of his name. He smiled evilly. “You better get ready.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean yawned. Sitting back, “Is there a point to all this? Tryin’ to show off for your bosses or do you just like being in my company?”

The detective seemed almost relieved at the change in subject matter. Dean had successfully made him uncomfortable. The man pulled out a large stack of papers and sat them down on the table. “Years ago, our computers tied your aliases together. Didn’t hurt that you used the same first name for all of them. So, somebody looked into it, and around the times of these arrests there were a lot of disappearances. Sometimes whole families just gone.”

Yeah, whole families of werewolves and vampires. And though he didn’t remember every specific instance, the information made complete sense. Doing a job meant breaking the law—all the time. Dean never ran from a fight, so regardless of being arrested, the job would still get done. And a surprising number of monsters had day jobs or somehow managed to be functioning members of society. Of course their disappearances would be noticed, as would the disappearances of their victims. But to be honest, he once doubted law enforcement would ever tie any of that to him.

“I wanna know how many are out there, and where you put the bodies.”

He scoffed. “I don’t kill people.” Innocent ones, anyway.

“No, you just steal, break into houses, make up whole new identities, flee from police…”

Protect his family, kill monsters, save the world… “I do a lot of things. Most of which you couldn’t even begin to understand.” He tried to stay arrogant. “Did you even look into any of those people you say disappeared? Look into how they got the stuff they had?” And whether or not the prior owners got eaten?

Thomas snorted. “So, you’re a vigilante? You killed a bunch of people who did something you thought was wrong? Is that it?”

“I don’t kill people,” he repeated.

The man rubbed at his temple, as though a headache were forming. Good.

But he switched gears, and took the conversation in a direction Dean didn’t appreciate. “Maybe it was your brother, then?” He glanced at one of the papers to get the name. “Sam?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Nope.”

“Is he here, too? In the city?” When he saw no change in the prisoner’s face, “If he is, we’ll find him. He’s got almost as many warrants as you do.”

“My brother’s dead.” He tried to make it sound like a matter of fact. “Ten years ago, man. Try to keep up.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “That’s another thing. No peep from you on the radar for more than a decade, and then now you’re here.” He squinted at the paper. “And you look really young for a 45-year-old.”

Well, yeah. A ten-year time out, plus all the anti-aging from Sam. Dean looked closer to thirty. He smiled wide. “It’s starting to seem a little off, now, right? Like the world just doesn’t make sense?” Snickering, “Man, you are in for a treat when you figure all this out.” Provided he lived through it.

“Why don’t you give me a hint?”

“Look into those disappearances. I mean really look at them.” He stretched, cracking his knuckles. “I think I’m done talking for now. But hey, it’s been fun.”

The detective looked over at the camera and gave a nod. A normal officer entered the room and took Dean back to his cell.

***

“Spooky, right?” asked Gerry Hansen, the youngest—and most annoying—detective that Richard had to work with. But he tolerated the intrusion into his research simply because his eyes hurt from staring at a computer screen for so long.

“Which part?” The kid was invited to watch the interrogation. Also present were Richard’s partner Frank and his boss Susan.

He snorted. “All of it! That guy is crazy!” When everybody turned to look at him, Hansen lowered his voice a bit. “What’d he mean by all that? Do you think there really are people coming for him?”

The old detective shrugged, and took a sip of his cold coffee. “It’s probably all talk. Guy’s a sociopath. You saw it. He doesn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. He killed all those people. I’m sure of it.” He just had to prove it.

With literally no evidence.

And what he _was_ finding wouldn’t help the case at all. A lot of the missing people were actually new additions to a community or drifters. Not many people actually knew them well. And there would sometimes be an uptick in deaths _before_ Dean Winchester got to a place. If it was happening before he got there, how could he be implicated in the ones that happened while he was there? And in one of the cases, the perp was only eleven. But there were disappearances then, too. It didn’t make sense.

Moreover, he didn’t understand why a career criminal and possible serial killer would stop for fifteen years or so. Was he just good enough to not get caught? It didn’t seem likely. The guy got picked up for shoplifting. Not burglary or a violent crime. Shoplifting.

It didn’t add up. He checked the prison database to make sure they hadn’t simply incarcerated him for that time under a different name, but came up empty. Inmates were religiously fingerprinted. They would have found out who he was.

“Could it be the brother?” Hansen intruded. “If he’s dead, then that would explain why we haven’t seen the pattern lately.”

Possible. Dean Winchester might just be a willing accomplice. And there could be more family members out there. But the guy was creepy. He knew or believed things that he wanted to explain but held back seemingly out of amusement—or some other concern that Richard couldn’t decipher. He _felt_ like a killer. Moved like one. Seemed adept at both talking to police and being intimidating. And the detective wasn’t sure he bought the death story, either. Who wouldn’t try to protect their own sibling?

And he seemed so confident that he would escape, not only before a trial but in the immediate future. Richard just gained more questions by attempting to interview this guy, and he didn’t like it.

Hansen continued on without his input. “And he didn’t once ask for a lawyer or a phone call.”

There was that, too. They found nothing on his person except the stolen goods. No wallet or phone. No keys of any kind. It was like he showed up out of nowhere and planned to leave just as easily. Richard had an officer recheck all the items for any sort of GPS or signal, but they came up empty. How could he be certain that people would come for him, when nobody knew where he was, and he had contacted no one? Unless he had telepathy—Richard felt stupid for even considering it.

He briefly wondered if perhaps Mr. Winchester thought he might be saved by other officers, but that idea seemed even more ridiculous. Any cop would take one look at this guy and think he was trouble.

It was all so weird. He would try and talk to him again tomorrow. Maybe there would be fewer riddles this time.

***

Cas’s anxiety increased practically by the hour. Though Sam explained that an arrest really wasn’t that dangerous, it didn’t register. He only worried. Constantly. For the entire next day. He paced around their room like a caged animal, stopping only to look out the window in hopes of spying Dean’s return.

While the healer tried to help as much as he could, Cas couldn’t calm down. So, he focused on making certain the two of them would be okay while Dean was gone.

He only left Cas for brief intervals, but nearly every time proved incredibly useful. He did some simple pickpocketing. “Accidentally” ran into a guy with a suit. Pulled a wallet out of a woman’s open handbag. He collected about two-hundred in cash and a handful of credit cards in under an hour. It wasn’t honorable, but he had to make sure they were fed and they were safe.

After buying them lunch, he headed straight to the first pawnshop he found. Selecting a simple 9mm handgun, he slid a red plastic card onto the display case. “There’s a waiting period,” the owner said with disinterest. “And I need ID.”

Sam dug around in his pockets for the corresponding driver’s license, and passed it over. The man in the picture was well into his fifties.

The man glared at him. “What, you been to the spa?”

“You wouldn’t believe what they can do with seaweed.” He slid a stack of twenties towards guy. “You ever try it?”

“You know, I think I remember you comin’ in here last week. You filled out all the paperwork for this thing.” He picked up the gun and placed it on the case. “Not sure I can find it though.”

Sam knew this drill. There were people like this everywhere. And you could get anything if you coughed up enough cash and smiled. He placed most of his haul on the table, saving just enough to buy some dinner if the cards got cancelled.

“Ammo too?”

“Yeah.”

The man practically giftwrapped the gun for him. It was that easy. The IRS would never hear about the extra money, and the shopkeeper would simply forge the paperwork to make it seem like Sam came in earlier and waited the appropriate amount of time. If pressed, he would say that the man looked like the ID. This guy had probably done it dozens of times, never caring what the weapon would be used for.

Sam would worry about such things if he didn’t need people like this. Bribery was a hell of a lot safer than trying to buy a gun on the street, and with fake info—and a man who had an interest in not describing him accurately—he would probably get away with it. With a simple “Thanks,” he left quickly.

He had no further use for the identity he just stole. The card would be cancelled soon, either when the victim discovered his wallet was gone or when the bank saw a purchase of a firearm from a seedy pawnshop. He wiped both cards down and tossed them in the trash.

With a different card, he planned to get some knives and other implements that would help aid in their survival.

***

Running circles around his new detective buddy was a welcome distraction from the complete boredom of sitting in a jail cell. He had nothing to read, and while there was a TV, it didn’t work. He considered asking for a public defender—which he might be able to use to get in touch with Sam and Cas—but he didn’t think it would be faster or safer than simply flying out. He could feel the wings recharging. Every hour, he got a little stronger. It might be at least another day, though, so he just had to be patient.

And hope his lovers were doing okay without him.

When the cops brought him into the interrogation room once more, he couldn’t help but notice that Thomas looked like he hadn’t slept since their last meeting. Dean grinned.

“What’s with these locations?” the man started abruptly. “Murder rate goes up, then your ass rolls into town.”

“And then it stops,” he supplied.

Staring him down, “So what, you’re killing killers? You’re a vigilante serial killer?”

He laughed and shook his head. More like _Buffy_ than _Dexter_. But at least the guy was beginning to understand without needing it spelled out for him. “Catching people like that is _your_ job.”

“And what’s yours?”

A wider smile. “Pest control.”

Thomas grew visibly angry. “People are not pests. They’re people.”

“And I told you, I don’t kill people.” Some of them might have been human, but they were monsters all the same. Dean regretted some of the different species kills way more than those.

He didn’t believe him, but he was willing to play along. “If you _are_ killing, but they’re not people, then what are you killing? Wild animals?”

Dean perked up at that. “Sure, sometimes.”

“Why not just call a professional for that?”

“I am a professional.”

“Not a licensed one.” He drank some coffee from a worn-out mug. “And certainly not the best equipped to handle a rabid animal.”

He chuckled. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“So, these animals. They killed the people in these towns, and you killed the animals. Where are all the bodies, then? Where’s the proof?” He sighed. “Or do you just see people as animals, ready for the slaughter?”

The guy was so close, and yet still not getting it. “An animal that attacks a person wants to eat or protect itself and its young. If it’s for eating, you ain’t gonna find a body.” He rolled his neck to release some tension. “An animal like that needs to be put down.”

“What kind of animal takes out a whole family?”

He had a feeling that Thomas was referring to a family of werewolves that the Winchesters exterminated, but there were plenty of cases where a creature or creatures had gotten to families before Dean and Sam could get there. “One you don’t want around for very long.”

“I mean specifically. A bear? Wolves? Some kind of big cat?”

He decided to go for it. “Do you really think that’s all that’s out there? That the only shit lurking around at night can be found in a high school biology book? Lemme let you in on a little secret.” He motioned for Thomas to move a little closer, mostly for effect. When the man did, “You should be afraid of the dark. You should be very, very afraid.”

“Because of people like you?”

“Because people like me are necessary.” Dean took a moment to glance at the two-way mirror. “You’re not gonna believe me, at least not right away. But once you do, you’ll see it everywhere. Something moves out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn, it’s gone. Someone dies in a locked room. Somebody you knew your whole life changes in an instant.” He breathed out. “And the moment you notice them, they notice you.”

Now Thomas was certain this guy belonged in a strait-jacket. But the speech made him shiver nevertheless. He lost nothing by playing along, and honestly, he wanted to see how deep Dean Winchester’s psychosis went. “Who are _they_?”

“Movie monsters. Local legends. Dead relatives. You name it, it’s probably out there.”

“ _Ghosts?_!” The amount of indignation in his voice was a little over the top. “You’re talking about ghosts.”

He shrugged. “Those are the easy ones.”

Thomas got up suddenly and walked away from the table. “Cut the bullshit. You’re a murderer and a shitty thief, and everyone here knows it.”

“Like I said, you’re not gonna believe me.” And he wasn’t a shitty thief. Just an unlucky one.

“You’re damn right I don’t. People are missing, presumed dead, and you are connected to them. You are _responsible_. Their families deserve to know where they are, what you did to them.”

“They’re not people!” he countered with frustration. “They’re—” But he stopped. Not for fear of giving anything away, but because of an incessant buzzing in his ear. He covered both of them, but it only got louder. Like a million cicadas decided to take up residence inside his head. He let out a loud groan. “Fuck!”


	5. Black Moon Creeping

Thomas had had enough. He strode up to Dean and shook him. “What the fuck is this about?”

It vaguely felt like a strong angel had come calling, but without any of the finesse. And something foreign. Weird even for him. “There’s somethin’ coming,” he forced out. To his great unease, it seemed his presence had alerted far more than just some hunters.

Could it be the thing that brought them back to life? Or the thing that chased it away? Or something else entirely? He couldn’t think. His head hurt. And he was still too weak to fly.

The ground shook. For a moment, he thought it might actually be Rosa, come to rescue him with her angelic abilities on full blast. But something about it didn’t feel right. His tired wings wanted him to flee, almost automatically. On their own. Whatever this was, the angel part of him was terrified of it.

When he finally looked up at the detective, he found him pressed into the corner of the room.

“Get out of here,” Dean ordered. But Thomas shook his head. “I’m not fucking around. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s friendly.”

The buzzing intensified, and his eyes watered from the pain. He covered his head.

And then it was just there, in the room with them. A slender human-shaped figure. Roughly the height and build of a teenage girl, but certainly not one. It had long black hair that nearly touched the ground and gray skin. Tarnished jewelry adorned every finger, both wrists, the neck, and even the ankles. He noticed bells attached, but heard nothing but buzzing. He couldn’t really see its face from under the hair, like the creepy chick from _The Ring_.

It moved its head down to one side, so that it nearly rested on its own shoulder. The arms raised slightly, and the fingers contorted. Beneath bare feet, the floor turned to black mold. And all around it, there was just a fraction less light.

After a few moments, where the two others didn’t dare move a muscle, it opened its mouth and let out a blood-curdling screech.

“Nope,” Dean either said or thought, he couldn’t be sure. He stumbled away from the table and accidentally slammed himself into the detective—who didn’t react or even blink. The guy was frozen in fear. He knew he couldn’t go far, maybe just to the front entrance of the prison, and it would hurt beyond belief, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be in the same room as this thing.

And even though he didn’t particularly like cops or this detective in particular, the guy didn’t deserve to be ripped to shreds.

So, with hands still cuffed, he took hold of the man, closed his eyes, and moved.

But he didn’t make it nearly as far as he wanted to. They crash landed in the middle of the processing area, scaring the shit out of at least a dozen people. Lying on the ground in a painful heap, Dean kicked at the floor enough to move a foot or so away from his charge.

For his part, Thomas couldn’t believe anything he’d just seen. Nor did he have any idea how they could be in the interrogation room one second and out here the next. “How—” he stammered. “How did you—?”

“Do you believe me yet?!” he shouted. They were anything but safe, and now there were more potential victims.

The ground rumbled again, and everyone around them began to panic. A few ducked for cover, assuming it was an earthquake. But they’d just seen two people appear out of nowhere, and they were already afraid.

His head pounded, and his wings felt like they were on fire. He tried to slow his breathing but to no avail.

“What in the hell,” came from across the room. Dean managed to prop himself up to get a good look at the speaker, whose voice he would have recognized anywhere.

Bobby. Dressed up like a lawyer and carrying a briefcase. No doubt a result of Dean’s original plan, to alert other hunters of his untimely return. He called the man’s name in a low voice, but he didn’t seem to hear it. Dean’s heart sank as he realized what Bobby was looking at.

The creature had already followed them here. It stood near a locked door, the blackness from its feet creeping up the wall behind it.

From the other end of the room, another man—grizzled and worn—raised a shotgun and put two rounds into the monster. Bobby produced a gun as well. It looked to be made of plastic, but he held it with certainty that it would at least do its intended purpose. But the creature didn’t even flinch at the first shot, so he only pointed the weapon.

“Bobby!” Dean called much louder this time. No point in trying to hide. This thing knew where he was, and it was most assuredly after him.

His mentor didn’t move. “I know that voice, but you sure as hell ain’t who it belongs to.”

Shit. He crawled a little closer to the man, until he was thoroughly in view. When Bobby turned the gun on him, he raised his hands. “No,” he said slowly, despite the immediacy of the situation. “It’s me, Bobby. I’m here, it’s me, and we need to get the hell out of here.”

“Horse shit!” He spat in Dean’s general direction. “That boy is dead, and you ain’t him.”

Dean tried not to get upset. Of course Bobby would suspect it wasn’t him, given the whole having died thing, but this was a really bad time to discuss it.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me right now. We can catch up later. But I don’t know what the hell that is,” he motioned towards the creature, which hadn’t advanced again, but seemed no less threatening. “It wants my hide, and I doubt anybody here is gonna live to tell about it if we don’t get the fuck outta Dodge!”

Bobby hesitated. But when the other man—who had to be a hunter—joined them, he gave in, at least for the time being. The stranger hoisted Dean up from the floor, and the three of them backed away from the creature.

Thomas made no move to join him, and instead cowered with the others.

“That’s a lot of witnesses,” the stranger pointed out.

“Yeah, if they live,” Dean countered. He didn’t care about anonymity at this point. He only hoped that by leaving, the creature would also depart without a pile of bodies left in its wake.

They lucked out. The door hadn’t been closed properly thanks to some dropped debris. The men quickly opened it and slipped through. No point in attempting to lock it. When Dean tried to get a last look at the creature, he found it no longer in view and no evidence it had ever been there.

They rushed toward the door. Someone at the receiving desk told them to stop, but the stranger simply pointed his shotgun in that direction. “You might wanna get out of here, too, kid.” They left without further incident.

Though the two old hunters didn’t seem to know each other and had come independently, they synched up well. Bobby’s van was closer so they all filed in and quickly peeled out.

It wasn’t until they were on the highway that his mentor broke the fear-induced silence. “Okay, I have a lot of fucking questions.” Before Dean could try and explain, he continued. “First of all, who the hell are you?” He pointed at the man in the back seat.

He treated the question as unimportant but answered it nonetheless. “Frank.”

“Who are you, Frank, and what the hell were you doing there?”

The man nodded, expecting this line of questioning. “I work there. I’m a cop.” Bobby gripped the wheel, and Dean could see the muscles in his neck and arms tighten considerably. But the guy simply shook his head. “ _And_ a hunter.”

Dean’s jaw dropped open, but he said nothing. Holy shit. He knew hunters would come for him, but he had no idea one would already be there.

Bobby let out a breath. He didn’t like the idea of being anywhere near a police officer, but if he was a hunter too—like a double agent—then maybe he could prove useful. At once, both of them turned their attention to Dean. “And you’re the legendary Dean Winchester,” Frank quipped. “I woulda thought you’d be taller.”

His mentor didn’t relax. “I ain’t so sure it’s really him.”

Their new friend raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Dean sighed. “He thinks I’m a creature with good fashion sense.” He motioned toward his body. “But wouldn’t I have attacked you already?”

Bobby snorted. “Not if you needed our asses to get you out of a bind.” And an angel could have any number of motives that might not immediately involve murder.

“Why are we thinking possession?”

“Because I died.” Dean said it as a matter of fact, like telling someone he’d done the laundry. “It was a pretty big deal. Giant piece of rebar sticking out of my stomach. Lotta blood.”

Bobby glared at him. “Anyone could know that.”

“Yeah, how bout this. My organs were half-healed, right? Like immaculate except for the piece of metal? Like somebody who could heal shit put every last drop of energy into tryin’ to keep me here.” He felt sadness creep into him as he recalled the scene. “And then that healer’s heart just stopped in the ambulance, even with treatable wounds.” When no one said anything, “Sound familiar?”

His mentor fidgeted in his seat.

“You ever wonder about that last part?” He formed a fist with his hand. “Because I know what happened. And I think you do, too.”

“Stop,” was all Bobby could say.

“No. You wanna know who you got sittin’ in front of you, and I ain’t gonna sugar coat it. I died. Sam and Cas offed themselves. And then we went upstairs. Next thing we know, we’re waking up in a damn morgue, and everything looks and feels like it did before.”

Frank blinked slowly. “Wait, hold on.”

Dean shot him a sympathetic glance. It would take a while before this man had a good comprehension of what was going on. “We don’t know who did it, how, or why, but I’m pretty sure that thing doesn’t want me here.”

But Bobby tilted his head to one side. “You said ‘we’re.’ ‘We’re waking up.’”

“Yeah, they’re here too, in a motel.” And probably worried sick about him.

“Then they’re in danger,” Frank cut in. “If that thing came after you, wouldn’t it go after them, seeing as how all three of you were, uh, brought back?” He didn’t know who Cas was, but he would bet money that Sam was Sam Winchester, the other half of the legend. While Frank had never personally known them or any of their close friends, the brothers—and their father—were like campfire stories for hunters. Half the shit probably wasn’t even true, but he knew their names. And when a guy came into his precinct claiming to be Dean Winchester, he carefully monitored the situation and acted when he needed to.

He had no idea about the rest of it. Healing? Regeneration? Hell, even the suicides seemed _weird_ , despite his altered world view. Hunters lost people they cared about all the time, but they didn’t usually kill themselves over it.

“Shit,” Bobby gritted his teeth. “You’re right.” He looked over at Dean, who quickly provided the motel’s address. They took the nearest exit and headed back for the city.

Then, “I really, really don’t know why we’re here. I wanted to call you, man, but it’s been ten years.” Nevermind the awkwardness or the likelihood that he wouldn’t be believed. He literally didn’t know the number, and he didn’t want to lead a bunch of cops to Bobby Singer and his weapon-filled house.

“We picked you up on a petty theft charge,” Frank supplied.

Dean rubbed at his nose. He tried to force a smile but couldn’t do it. “We didn’t have anything.” After a pause, “I haven’t been a hunter in a really long time.”

Bobby eyed him suspiciously, but let himself calm down a little.

“What I don’t get, is how you got out of the room with my partner and just fucking appeared in with everybody else,” Frank continued. “That’s not really within a normal hunter’s repertoire, and you didn’t have anything on you.”

He silently debated what to tell him, eventually deciding on the basics. “I wrestled with an angel and won.”

Bobby stifled a laugh. Though Dean—and it had to be Dean—was making a rare Biblical reference, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the sexual implications of the statement. When the younger man realized what he’d said, he blushed.

Clarifying, “I can occasionally, with a shit ton of effort, well—fly.”

Frank let a bunch of air out from his lungs. “Wow.” After a moment, “But you’re still human?”

Mostly. “Fuck yes, dude. It’s just good for getting out of a jam. I would’ve done it earlier, but they—the ability kinda needs to be recharged. We woke up with nothin’, up to and including any extra energy.”

“And Sam can heal people?” he surmised.

Dean nodded as Bobby gave him a look that said _“Try talking your way out of this one.”_ But he really didn’t have to explain much. This guy could take it or leave it. “Yeah. He used to heal hunters.”

He thought maybe he remembered hearing about something like that. “On the east coast?” he supplied.

Another nod.

Though Frank wanted to ask why a person like that would give it all up so easily, he barely knew this guy and didn’t want to pry beyond what was necessary for their survival. Besides, he had a thousand other questions, not the least of which included the apparent confirmation of a pleasant afterlife. “So, you died and—”

“Went to Heaven? Yep.”

“How was it?”

He smiled a bit. “It was nice.” Knowing that wouldn’t be sufficient, “You, uh, you relive your best memories.” And those of anyone with whom you shared paradise. “You’d figure it would get boring eventually, but I didn’t think it was.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Sounds like this is a fieldtrip you don’t wanna be on.”

He shrugged and turned his attention out the side window. “Not having to worry if you’re gonna get tortured or killed or have to watch someone you care about get hurt—that’s pretty great.”

When Bobby didn’t know how to reply to that, Frank interjected. “That does sound good.”

***

It was about twenty minutes before they pulled up to the motel. In that time, Dean picked the locks on his cuffs and tossed them in the glove box. Though he hoped Frank would stay in the car, the man joined them as they ascended the stairs. With a sigh, Dean knocked on the door rhythmically, as he had done hundreds of times when he and Sam were still hunters. A knock his soulmate would instantly recognize.

There were footsteps, and then the door opened. But it was actually Cas who answered. He flashed a big smile, threw his arms around Dean, and kissed him before his lover could get out a single word. When he finally stepped back, he realized that they weren’t alone. “Shit.” He calmed a little when he realized one of the men was Bobby. Turning back to Dean, “You brought friends.”

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of amusement. No point in hiding it now. A quick glance at Frank showed him to be surprised but not terribly concerned. “Let’s go in for a second.”

The three filed into the small room. Dean heard water running. He also noticed a pistol sitting on the bed, along with more clothes and food.

“I take it, this is Cas,” Frank said bluntly. Then, remembering his manners, “Uh, nice to meet you.”

The angel didn’t know what they’d told this guy, so he just shook his hand and smiled. “You’re a hunter.” It wasn’t a question. He’d seen hundreds of them when they lived in Philly, and he just had the look.

“And a police officer,” Dean added, ensuring his companion would be careful with what they told him. Just in case. With that dealt with, he went up to the bathroom door and pounded on it. “Hey Sammy. Get out here. I’m back, and I brought reinforcements.”

The water shut off. There were a few moments of relative silence as he toweled off and slid into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The door opened and hot air rushed out. “Hey, Dean,” was all he said. It was good to see him back and in one piece. But he didn’t know who else was there, so he avoided any kind of physical celebration. As he entered the room in bare feet, however, he couldn’t contain his excitement at seeing Bobby again.

“Oh my god.” He rushed over and gave him a big hug.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he returned. After taking it all in, Bobby switched to business. “All right, so the long and short of it is that Dean got his ass arrested and while he was there, a new big bad dropped in to say hello. Whereupon, we met Frank here, who’s a hunter that moonlights as a cop.” He let the two newcomers process the info before going on. “Since the thing found Dean easily enough, you two could be in danger, so we gotta take off, ASAP.”

Cas nodded quickly and began gathering up what little they had. Save for the gun, which Sam grabbed. “Where are we headed?” the younger Winchester asked as they left the room.

Bobby looked the other four over. “My place, I figure. It’s the best fortified.” Ellen wouldn’t like the stranger coming into their house or the added danger, but she would be overjoyed at seeing the kids. Turning to Frank, “You want us to drop you off somewhere?”

“Hell no!” He laughed. “I haven’t seen action like this in ages. And anyway, if I can help, I’d like to.”

“All right then.”


	6. Back Back Train

Their commute would be a long one, but it gave them some time to talk, gather supplies, and hash out part of a plan. For Frank, he called his partner to see if he was alive, along with how the rest of the staff fared. There were surprisingly no deaths. Richard, however, was shaken to the core. He’d been grilled on what he’d seen and what happened before being put on paid leave. The creature that dozens of people witnessed didn’t show up on any of the security cameras. Their reactions did, as well as the building shaking, but that was about it.

Dean Winchester was classified as an escaped prisoner, and Frank was wanted for questioning in connection to him. Functionally, his career as an officer was over. Richard strongly believed that Frank had something to do with the whole mess, but he promised not tell anyone that he called. Frank wasn’t sure if he’d ever speak to him again.

The situation isolated him. Even if he hadn’t wanted to get involved, he already was. May as well see this thing through, he thought.

When he got off the phone, he noticed Dean watching him from a park bench. They’d stopped for a break, to stretch their legs and grab some snacks. “It’s a mess back there,” he said uneasily, sliding the phone into his pocket.

“They’re alive though,” he returned.

“Yeah.” Maybe that was all he could really hope for. Civilians didn’t often tangle with powerful creatures and live to tell about it. Hunters remained anonymous partly because of this fact.

Dean stayed silent for a moment. Then, “You watched the conversations, from behind the window.” He’d heard the name Richard enough times during the call to put two and two together. Cops usually had partners. Just because he never met Frank during the process didn’t mean he didn’t know Dean’s case intimately.

“Yeah. Watched you spill the beans on everything to a damn normal person. And on camera, too. That’s not usually how hunters do things.” But then, they never used their real names when they got arrested, either. “Did you just get bored or what?”

A little. But it was more than that. The longer he stayed there, the more a bad feeling in his gut developed. And it had occurred to Dean that being identified could ring a dinner bell for anything looking to get a piece of him. Especially any creature that already wanted to find him. “Trouble usually finds me,” he said simply. “If it found me while in jail—which it did—your pal knowing what that trouble could be might’ve helped.” Obviously, they didn’t know what this particular thing was, but the idea still worked. The quicker people like that detective accepted that things went bump in the night, the easier it would be for them to protect themselves or at least get out of the way.

Besides, he was tired of being called a serial killer.

“Just seemed reckless.”

Maybe it was. Dean found it difficult to care what the living did and didn’t know. Even his misgivings about being seen with Cas or Sam were dulled by his changed understanding of mortality. The people out there living their lives were not quite as important to him. Yeah, he wanted to protect them from harm, but keeping the truth from them just didn’t matter as much. “You could have stopped me.”

“And kill my career? Come off like a crazy person?” He scoffed. “I actually like my job. We catch the human bad guys. The sickos and murderers.”

People trying to steal toothpaste.

There wasn’t much Frank could say that would make Dean like police officers, even detectives like him. It never seemed like they helped enough people or the right ones. And they certainly weren’t very open-minded. Maybe this particular one would be okay. He wasn’t sure about him yet.

Frank sensed Dean’s disagreement and decided to change the subject. “So, Cas. What is he?”

Alarm tinged every nerve in his body. “What?”

“Not gonna lie, he doesn’t seem like a hunter. What did he do for a living?”

Dean carefully breathed a sigh of relief. And lied his ass off. “He was like a telemarketer before we met him. He’s—he’s from a case.”

“Oh?” On occasion, hunters did end up romantically involved with a grateful survivor of an attack. Usually not for long if they didn’t become hunters themselves, but it wasn’t unheard-of.

“Couldn’t stay where he was, so we took him with us.”

“And the rest is history, huh?” He chuckled. Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, “And then eventually you retired, so Sam could heal people?”

Dean felt like he was being interrogated all over again. “Man, you ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

He decided to answer the last one, anyway, since it was the happiest part of his prior life. “More or less, yeah. Got tired of almost dying. Got tired of worrying. Figured we could help from a distance instead.” He shifted in his seat. “A brick and mortar place just made sense.” Sure, he hadn’t been on board at first, but how could he say no to safety?

“I can understand that.” The man paced over and sat down. “It _is_ rare, though. To get out of the business at all. I think most hunters dream about it, but something gets them first.”

“We didn’t completely leave,” he corrected. “Sam healed hundreds of hunters, and I made weapons. We did that for years. Kinda like you, tryin’ to be in both worlds.”

“Yeah, but you saw how well that worked out.”

True. And the three of them _did_ die well before a normal life span, but hunting had almost nothing to do with it. Their knowledge of going to Heaven certainly influenced his companions, who apparently could not fathom living in a world without him. Dean still didn’t understand that. If they knew they would get to be with him again anyway, why wouldn’t they want to keep enjoying life? He didn’t think he was special enough to warrant not one but two suicides. While he witnessed their deep love for him, and he certainly loved them more than anything, it just seemed like a waste of good lives. Beautiful ones.

In Heaven, he didn’t think about this fact too often, probably by design. Paradise wasn’t about regret and loss and sadness. It was about being happy or contented pretty much all the time. Here, the emotions came flooding back. And they hurt, just like his body and his wings hurt. Sam and Cas would probably _still_ be alive now if they hadn’t killed themselves. Living in their little house in Philadelphia. Helping people. Enjoying the real world things they loved.

He tried to remind himself that they constantly and consistently said they were happy being with him in Heaven. They even seemed somewhat disinterested in being alive again. Though he couldn’t blame them for any of it, considering the danger and pain, he just really wished it had gone down differently. He wanted so much for them.

“At least you’re still alive,” Dean pointed out. “You could always try again or just retire completely.” Then, after some consideration, “Everybody dies eventually, but at least it might not be a monster that gets you.” It might be a fucking Crown Victoria running a red light.

As he found himself becoming more than a little depressed, Cas appeared from around a corner, his arms full of snacks. He smiled wide in Dean’s direction. An instant pick-me-up. In the next moment, Sam sauntered over, a couple of new cellphones in hand. They looked to be all screen and not much else, but if anyone could figure it out, Sam would. His shirt rode up and the jeans sagged a little, giving Dean an extra show with his arrival. He tried not to eye-fuck his brother in front of the stranger.

Sam slid down into the seat next to Dean. Out of Frank’s view, he rubbed the inside of Dean’s thigh. That move earned him a glare from his soulmate, but he left his hand there for a few more moments. He’d missed Dean and worried about him. With the others here, he couldn’t properly express his relief.

But he could drive him crazy.

When he moved his hand, Dean touched it gently. He missed him, too. And he missed the different kinds of sensations real physical touch created. A small amount of discomfort somehow made it better for him. Rough denim rubbing against skin. The over-tightening of a muscle in his leg. The old calluses on his hand as he caressed Sam’s. Amidst all the pain of being alive, they were living.

Sam lightly brushed his shoulder against Dean’s before leaving him be. He directed his attention toward the new phones and their various uses.

The angel gave them both a knowing look. While it seemed clear to Frank that he and Dean were together, and there were no issues because of it, the brothers would have to be far more careful if they didn’t want any conflict or awkwardness. And it disheartened them to have to do this song and dance again. Towards the end of their lives, the two lived openly by merit of no one really knowing about their blood relation. Only Bobby and Ellen understood. Though they weren’t fully comfortable with it, either. They simply accepted that, because of the soulmate bound, it was unavoidable.

It would be difficult for them until they got some relative privacy, which wouldn’t happen until this road trip ended. Cas was sympathetic to their predicament. And he could relate to an extent, because he couldn’t show any interest in Sam, too. It would raise too many questions. He didn’t enjoy having to shut down part of his life for an aging police officer.

Cas distributed the junk food among the four of them and tried to stay positive. They would be in South Dakota early the next day.

***

Bobby kept his distance. He didn’t trust Frank despite his seemingly genuine intentions. He simply didn’t know the man well enough to anticipate what he might do in a tough situation.

And he didn’t quite know how to handle having the kids back. He’d mourned them. Really mourned. The time after their deaths took a horrible toll on his emotions and physical health. In the end, the increased drinking it caused resulted in him eventually getting help, but he was a mess for _years_. Not a good husband or hunter. Not good for much.

Now that they were back, he had trouble believing it. He _knew_ it was them as well as he knew himself, but part of him still didn’t accept it. He and El lost them. They helped with the funeral. He was a pallbearer. There were easily a hundred people there or more, he remembered. Mostly hunters, but a few college kids and normals mixed in. Hunters didn’t cry easily. At least not in public. But at losing a staple of their community, they seemed lost. Every couple minutes, someone would start bawling. He couldn’t bear it.

He didn’t even remember the end of the reception. He started drinking that morning and didn’t stop until El took him back to their hotel room to sleep it off. Though Bobby wasn’t the only one drunk that day, he certainly hit the bottle like it was his job.

Beyond him and El, the most devastated had to be the girl who lived with them. Rosa. She barely spoke to anyone throughout the proceedings. Didn’t join conversations. She gave a short eulogy that she struggled through and kept to herself otherwise. At some point while he slept, she approached Ellen with a small bundle of the trio’s personal items that she felt they would appreciate. Cas’s angel sword. The Colt. Dean’s ever-present necklace. A watch Sam wore. A stack of photographs. A couple books.

They had many more possessions than that, but it would take a moving truck to provide them. Rosa said that she would be staying in the house for a little while, and if there was anything they wanted, they could simply come by and retrieve it. Bobby never took her up on the offer and hadn’t been to Pennsylvania since. He had no idea if she still lived there or not.

Save for the weapons, which were hidden in secret places in the house, the other items sat in a trunk used for the exact purpose of keeping dead people’s belongings. Often, the materials there were the only proof some hunters ever existed. He wasn’t necessarily the sentimental type, but he did think those people deserved to be remembered. He thought Sam, Dean, and Cas deserved to be remembered.

But he didn’t have to just remember them now. Here they were, lounging around with him at some highway diner. Almost no worse for the wear.

The three of them were a little nervous, probably because of the newcomer, but they seemed happy. Laughing and carrying on. Dean slid a beer his way. “I’d say this one’s on me,” he chuckled. “But I’m kinda low on funds.”

“ _I_ got this,” Sam intervened, throwing a stolen credit card on the table. Dean raised an eyebrow at that. Of course, he would have to steal to survive while his brother was in prison, but it’d been a very long time since he did anything like that.

Frank saw the random name on the card and snorted.

Regardless, Bobby quickly pushed the bottle away. When Dean looked offended, “Boy, I haven’t touched that stuff in years.” Three years, two months, and four days. “Shit woulda put me in a damn grave along with you.”

Both of the Winchesters’ jaws dropped open simultaneously. They looked at each other for a moment. Sam smiled in discomfort before addressing Bobby directly. “You’re kidding.”

“‘Fraid not.” As much as he would love to just sit and have a beer with the boys—and it _was_ very tempting—he realized that the beer wasn’t necessary. And he couldn’t just have one. He knew that now. “El woulda kicked my ass on the other side if I dropped dead over a burnt-out liver.”

“Holy shit,” was Dean’s contribution.

But the angel was the more eloquent of the three. Smiling, “That’s really great, Bobby. Seriously.”

The other two nodded. Dean took the beer back and handed it off to a server. When he turned back, “Well, shit, we’re proud of you, man.”

Just as the level of emotional sweetness threatened to give Bobby cavities, the diner door opened. A normal human walked in, but Dean jumped nonetheless. Not at the person but the bells attached to the handle that signaled a new customer.

And at once, he understood. “The thing that came after me,” he tried to explain, “was decked head to toe in old jewelry. And a lot of it had bells attached.”

“Huh,” came from Frank.

“I think it’s to warn people. I think something else held that thing down and put bells on it so people would hear it coming.” Provided that it actually walked and didn’t just blip into a room all the time. “Or maybe it was created that way. Like a way to nerf it.”

“Like an outdoor cat,” Sam added, to the confusion of the others. “You know, so they don’t kill everything they run into. Birds and stuff. People put bells on them to give the birds a heads up. It’s, uh—it’s better for the environment.”

Dean refrained from calling him out for being nerdy or too soft. He figured out long ago that he loved those things about him. And he didn’t think he could tease him without it coming off flirtatious.

Frank gave a big nod. “Better for the birds, that’s for sure.”

The symbolism of a creature being described like a cat going after a guy with wings was not lost on any of them. “Guess that’s one thing we know about it, then. Bells. We hear bells, we run.” Dean sighed. “We need to figure out what this thing is.”

“We will,” Bobby said confidently. “Or we’ll figure out how to kill it. Whichever one comes first.”

***

By the time they reached Bobby and Ellen’s house, all involved were weary of being on the road. They once lived that kind of lifestyle, but it took a level of stamina—and crazy—that each of them no longer possessed. As they walked toward the door, Dean eyed the Stingray sitting out front. Bobby’s latest project. Any muscle car fan would drool at such a beauty, even one that needed a lot of work.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder. “Not quite an Impala, but she’ll be great if I can ever get her running.”

His heart sank. In all the chaos, Dean hadn’t had much time to mourn one of his most prized possessions. Their second home. He kept that car spotless. Washed and waxed it regularly. Meticulously checked for damage or wear. He and Sam grew up in that car. It was important. So important, in fact, that it often showed up in their adventures in Heaven.

“I take it she couldn’t be saved.”

Bobby shook his head. “They cut it practically in half to try and get the two of you out, and it was totaled before that.” When he realized that this was pretty devastating news, “I woulda fixed it up just on principle if I could.” But even the chassis was destroyed. The frame broken and bent to hell. The engine not even connected to the car by the time it stopped moving. It went straight to some junkyard once it was done being processed by investigators.

Even if it had been salvageable, Bobby knew it was covered in their blood. Soaked into every piece of fabric, every corner. He had a strong stomach, but—knowing it belonged to them—that was too much to handle.

Before they could discuss it further, Ellen appeared in the doorway, her face lit up with absolute joy.

Only a simple text preceded their return: “ _It’s him. We’re coming to you._ ” He kept the other two a surprise. For that reaction. It didn’t take much to get her smiling, but Bobby loved doing it all the same.

She couldn’t wait for them to come to her. With a speed that would make a young woman proud, El descended upon them, providing hugs and cheek kisses. Sam first, then Dean, and finally the angel. She did it out of relief and to ensure they were really there. Stepping back, “You old sonuva bitch, you didn’t tell me we got all three of ‘em!”

Bobby grinned. Before he could say anything, Frank stepped into view. Ellen’s back straightened and she looked to the others for an explanation. Dean obliged. “He’s a hunter. We ran into some shit, and he helped.”

The man offered his hand. “Frank. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She eyed him with suspicion, but shook his hand anyway. If the others thought he would be helpful, then they were probably right. “Well, come in then.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.


	7. Closer to the Heart

The group didn’t wait long to start researching. Bobby had hundreds of books on everything from magic to mysteries and monsters. They had only a vague physical description, so it would take days, provided they could find an answer at all. Sam vowed to reacquaint himself with the corner of the dark web used by hunters to share information. He would also put feelers out to see if anyone else had seen this thing.

But he didn’t immediately get to work. He wanted to settle in and make sure his companions did, too. This was their first chance to relax a little, and all three of them needed it.

Cas seemed to fare the best. He was a mess with Dean gone, but once he returned, it was like nothing happened. He would always feel content just being with the Winchesters. Sam was okay. He slipped a little too easily back into hunter life, something he proved very good at but didn’t enjoy. And he felt a general sense of foreboding in regards to their situation.

They didn’t know what that creature was, obviously, but they also didn’t know what it wanted. Did it summon them? Did it kill the thing that summoned them? The lack of information made him very uncomfortable. They had no edge against it. He felt more than a little vulnerable.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well. He seemed down if not depressed. Uneasy. Unhappy. It was nice to see Bobby and Ellen again, and he still had his two favorite people, but being in danger once more? He worried about them. He knew he might not be able to fight this thing and thought it might be targeting him specifically—thus putting Sam and Cas in danger. He feared that if something happened to them, they might not be able to get back into paradise. Or that this thing could snuff them out completely.

He would need some serious reassurance and support. Sam prioritized him over research for now. And he planned to provide the same for Cas.

So, they retired to a single bedroom on the second floor, citing fatigue and the desire to settle in. Ellen and Bobby suspected that at least mild romance would be on the menu, but they said nothing. Best not to think about it too hard. The three had a rough journey back to Earth. The last thing they needed was judgement.

Having brought no possessions, Frank simply took a seat in the living room, picking through a book and ignoring a perfectly fine glass of lemonade. He didn’t seem interested in anything else. The creature may have come after Dean, but this guy was fixated on it. It was more than an hour before he came up for air. “This one’s useless,” he gestured to the book. Setting it on a pile, he picked up a new one.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ellen tried to reassure the stranger.

“Maybe. I’ve never heard of anything like this.” He sighed. “And I’m afraid we might be sitting ducks here, waiting for it to find that kid again.”

Bobby perked up at that. “This house is covered in every protection that I’ve ever known about.” Except angel scribble, which El removed in anticipation of the discomfort it would cause Dean. If they had to, they could put him in the center of the house and write the symbols on the walls again.

He wasn’t worried. There hadn’t been any sightings of full-powered angels—or possible ones—since before the boys died. Castiel would be the only one, and he had the power of a baby jackrabbit.

“Yeah, but we don’t know what this is,” Frank countered. The man was a little younger than Bobby, but not by much. If he had to guess, he’d say the newcomer had been a hunter from at least his teenage years. And he wore every year on his face and hands.

“That don’t mean it can get in here.”

Frank looked no less uneasy. “I would sleep a whole lot better if we at least knew its name.”

***

Sam did not expect the scene he found in their new shared bedroom. Instead of the angel and his soulmate enjoying some much-needed time skin to skin, he found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Sobbing uncontrollably. Cas sat by his side, his arm over the man and his nose pressed into the man’s cheek. He whispered something encouraging, but it didn’t seem to help.

“I don’t wanna be here, man,” Dean cried. “I don’t want us to be here.”

He knew his brother didn’t mean Bobby’s house, which was a third home to them, after the one in Philly and the Impala. He meant being alive. Being back on Earth. Though he initially seemed happy to enjoy earthly pleasures once more and have a second chance at living, there was no evidence of that now. The weight of being essentially a hunter again, something they intentionally left behind, was too much to bear. He didn’t want his loves to be in pain or danger ever again. He didn’t want to do this shit anymore.

Sam quietly closed the door. He slipped out of his stolen shoes, and walked over. Sitting to Dean’s right, he placed one had on his arm.

“This isn’t what we had here,” he continued. “We had our house and our life—and my car.” He sniffed. “I know it’s stupid, but I miss my fucking car. I miss what we had. And we don’t have it here.”

Cas cut in before Sam could say anything. “I know, sweetheart, but we’ll make it through. We always make it through. Together.”

When Dean shook his head, Sam stepped in. “You’re tired. You barely slept since we came back.”

He raised his head. With reddened eyes, he stared at Sam for a moment. “I can’t watch you get hurt again.” His lower lip trembled.

His soulmate planted a gentle kiss near his hairline. “Hopefully, you won’t have to. But even if it happens, we’ll be okay. We’ll go back, and we’ll be fine.” He hesitated. Then, “But while we’re here, we can do some good. We can help people again. We can make a difference for people who are still alive. It’s not as safe or as kind of a world as we had, but we’ll have it again, eventually. For now, we have a job to do.”

While he seemed to calm down somewhat, the speech didn’t really improve his mood. Sam reached within himself and unraveled the power he once wielded so easily. At once, he felt Dean’s pain. Real pain. Not just sadness, but a deep depression. The same he had felt when his brother fixated on helping Cas get into heaven. The sort of desperate and deep despair that would not be mended with words.

He brought his hand up to Dean’s face, his thumb resting near the man’s ear and his fingers curled around the back of his head. “This isn’t doing you any good,” he pointed out. Letting Dean spiral deeper could prove deadly. He didn’t act last time, and the result was devastating. Moreover, his brother couldn’t be trusted to act in his own self-interest. He put anyone and everyone before himself. Even this episode seemed to embarrass him—because it focused all the attention on him.

So, he didn’t ask for permission. Closing his eyes, he reached into the cooling power and channeled it through his fingertips. He told the energy to not only calm him but treat him. Find what seemed to be a major mental illness mid-development and stamp it out. Kill it, if possible. Treat it. Sooth the pain it caused him. If necessary, repair the chemical imbalance that could be causing it.

Dean realized what he was doing immediately. But all he did was glare at Sam. Until the anger, too, faded away. His face relaxed, and to be honest, he looked a little high. His piercing green eyes unfocused, and he closed them. Cas looked over with a million questions, but Sam had one last thing to do. Sedation. If his soulmate couldn’t or wouldn’t sleep, he would ensure it. Sex and everything else could wait. Dean needed rest.

At once, his body slumped over, and he lost consciousness. Cas helped him down to the bed. “What the hell,” the angel muttered, once he was certain that speaking wouldn’t wake him.

Sam kept his eyes on his brother. “He’s sick,” was all he said at first. Then, “He’s been sick. For a long time now. Before—everything—he wouldn’t let me treat it. And that’s what led to his premature trip to Heaven. Not just love, though that probably would’ve been enough, but depression.”

Cas looked like someone punched him in the gut. But his lover tried to put him at ease. “He’s probably had it most of his life. He just hid it well with distractions and self-sacrifice. But I think it’s been there, and then it got worse around that time.” His reached out and touched the angel’s chin. “Same body, same problem. Mental illness is just an illness, and I wasn’t gonna let him suffer anymore.”

“He didn’t want you to help him, even now,” Cas said carefully.

“No, he didn’t.” Sam got up and began helping Dean undress for bed. First his shoes—a pair of loaner boots from Bobby—then his belt. “But he didn’t want me to heal him in the crash, either.”

There was a strange irony that the man with clinical depression was the only one who didn’t commit suicide (permanently, at least). He cared so little about himself that he would have never left them voluntarily, except in defense of their own safety.

Sam tugged on Dean’s jeans and slowly removed them. An act that would be sexual if not for the circumstances. Continuing, “I’m not sure if it will stick or not. I’ve only treated mental health stuff once before.” A hunter’s young daughter with a severe case of OCD. And they never came back for a follow-up. “It might take more than one go. But I’m going to make him feel better. He deserves to feel so much better than this.”

The angel had to fight back his own tears at that. “Yeah.”

With the jeans off, Sam pulled him farther up the bed until his head rested on a soft pillow. He brushed Dean’s cheek with the back of his hand. “He might be angry in the morning. Hopefully, though, he won’t want to die.”

“I thought it was because of the Kingdom. People that angels bring back always have their memory of it wiped, so they won’t find living unbearable.” He looked solemn and more than a little guilty that he hadn’t been able to help. “And before, I thought it was me, you know, not coming with you. It never even occurred to me that he could just be hurting. That these were symptoms.”

Sam shook his head. “Hey, it’s my job to diagnose people. You can’t feel bad for something you didn’t know.” He paced around Dean to their angel. “You helped, too. You were helping him when I walked in.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

He kissed him firmly. “You did.”

Cas ran his fingers through Sam’s hair, but he wasn’t convinced. Maybe he didn’t have to be. He was just as tired as Dean, if not more so. The Winchesters seemed mostly recharged, but he still felt half empty. Like he’d run a marathon and then had to do calculus. His stamina sucked, and his brain was foggy at times. The giant road trip didn’t help. They slept in the van the night before, which is to say that he didn’t really sleep at all.

It was only eight. Hardly a normal bedtime for any of them. But with Dean already asleep, he found himself wanting to join him. “I’m tired, too. I don’t think I can stay up much longer.”

Sam kissed him again. “I don’t blame you.” Personally, he didn’t feel drowsy in the slightest. He used up some of his juice healing Dean, but most of it was still there and recharging fast, keeping him in near-perfect condition. As such, he didn’t need more than a few hours of sleep except when his reserves got too low.

But he didn’t want to leave, either. He worried that Dean might wake during the night, confused or upset. And he didn’t think Cas should have to deal with that alone. What’s more, he needed the closeness and comfort that the three of them being together would provide. He worried that their staying here might put the others in danger. He was terrified they would have to square off with this creature, having nothing to use in defense.

He could be strong for them, though. Dean was in a bad place. Sam would pick up the slack. He would always ready for times like this, and anyway, he was their healer. He would do his job.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Cas smiled. That sweet, genuine smile he gave so often. Never once did Sam get used to it. “Sure!” was his reply.

The two crawled gently into bed. There wasn’t much risk of Dean waking, not for at least several hours, but they didn’t take any chances. They each took a side, with the sleeping hunter in the middle, but they wrapped their arms around each other and him. The warmth alone was worth retiring for the night.

The angel made it about ten minutes before falling asleep. Sam closed his eyes and told himself that he could keep them safe.

***

Dean awoke slowly. The room was dark but he could tell it was daytime. He felt drugged. It took a moment for him to remember what happened. Sam, he—he tried to heal him being upset, like it was a broken bone or something, and then put him out entirely. He’d never done anything like that, and especially not without asking. He couldn’t help but feel a little irritated.

But that faded when he realized a part of him felt very different. A sort of emotional hole, a pit in his stomach. He’d had it for so long, it almost seemed like a slice of who he was as a person. He made excuses for what it could be. Danger, fear, concern, temporary sadness. But part of Dean knew it wasn’t. His pride kept him from seeking out help. He would never tell a stranger his problems, nor did he want to try pills. He didn’t even want his soulmate going near it, as though that dark place might taint him somehow. His only reprieve was in heaven, where nothing hurt.

Sam didn’t give him a choice this time.

And it paid off. The hole was still there, with a sort of itchiness around the edges, but it felt shallower now. Partially filled. Softened. He didn’t feel despondent, numb, or like a robot. It wasn’t a cure. It wasn’t the painlessness they’d had only days ago. But it was a pretty damn good improvement. The good night’s sleep helped, too.

He often felt exhausted, motivated only by a need to protect others from the evils of this world. He slept a lot, even as a hunter. Sam chalked it up to booze, but it wasn’t always the culprit. Dean just thought he would always be like this. Even the darker times. He expected them as part of his very existence.

His soulmate took a substantial part of that pain and hardship away. He made an executive decision on Dean’s behalf, to help him when he refused to ask for it. And he felt better. The pain was manageable, at least for now. He could focus on the things he cared about. He could function on a higher level. Maybe he could work up the courage to ask for another dose sometime later. But for now, he would work with this.

He slowly got up and look around the empty room. How long had he been out? The others probably noticed his absence by now. With a sigh, he pulled on yesterday’s clothes before heading to the bathroom to wash his face.

When he appeared, sleepy-eyed, on the ground level, he found Bobby and Frank still researching, surrounded by towers of books. He hoped they would just ignore him, but his mentor let out a laugh. “Look who decided to join us.”

Dean provided only a wave as he headed toward the kitchen.

Once there, he blinked at a clock on the wall. Almost noon. Sixteen hours?! He’d been asleep for sixteen hours. Well, at least he felt well-rested.

He found Cas and Ellen there, with the former doing the dishes and the latter preparing for lunch. Maybe his angel would cook at some point while they were here. He was an excellent chef. Dean smiled at them both before sitting down at the small table. He still felt a little out of it. “Hey there,” said Ellen in a friendly tone. “You must’ve been beat.”

Cas turned and smiled back at him. He looked radiant, enveloped by light from the window in front of him. Taking off his rubber gloves, he set them on the edge of the sink. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” No need to elaborate in front of El. He had a hard enough time accepting that he was sick, let alone telling other people about it. There was a long pause as the two returned to their duties. He listened to the clinking of dishes in water and the chopping of vegetables. “Where’s Sam?”

“Oh, he’s outside with the laptop. On the porch. It’s a beautiful day out.” After a moment of thought, Ellen added: “I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

Dean nodded. And they had a lot to talk about. He stood up gradually and then walked toward the door. “Thanks.” Outside, he found his soulmate sitting in a foldable chair with his feet up on the small deck’s railing. He had the computer balanced precariously in his lap. It took him a moment to look up from whatever he was doing.

“Hey, Dean.” He hesitated to smile, but eventually got there. He didn’t have to ask how his brother was doing. He could easily feel it, an aspect of his power that worked with pretty much anyone but especially so with him. Still, “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” He pulled up a chair. Close enough that their conversation was unlikely to be overheard, but far enough that it wouldn’t be seen as strange. “Thanks to you.”

Sam typed for a second and then closed the laptop. He’d spent the entire morning looking for clues about their monster. “You’re pissed.”

But Dean shook his head. “I’m stubborn. You know me good enough to get it—get that I suck at asking for help.”

His soulmate let out a breath he’d been holding in. “I just wanted to take some of that pain away.”

“You got the job done.”

“Well, not completely.” He felt the place where Dean’s illness resided. It radiated far less pain than before, but it wasn’t gone. This fact confounded Sam, as he thought he put more than enough energy into Dean to heal him all the way. “I think that it, uh, it might be more difficult to treat than the normal stuff.” Other systems involved. Symptoms being problems in and of themselves, causing more symptoms. A body accustomed to being sick.

Dean gulped. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve been sick a really long time. Your body expects to be depressed, to go through the motions of the symptoms it caused. It formed around the illness. Even taking it all away—which I somehow didn’t—might not fix the whole problem.” He reached for Dean’s knee and caressed it gently. “It’s a really complex problem that I’ll be honest, I don’t fully understand. There may not be a simple solution.”

He expected Dean to clam up or fall back into that sadness, but he didn’t. A sure sign that the healing made a major impact. “You did a lot. I mean, I don’t feel like hell anymore.”

“That’s good.” Sam felt a little insufficient having not eliminated the problem. Dean deserved to be rid of this, once and for all. He deserved to leave that pain behind.

“You think Cas might be able to help?” When it didn’t seem like Sam understood him, he elaborated. “He took all those psych classes.” Never got a chance to graduate, a fact that produced a pang of sadness in him even now. The angel had wanted it so badly, and Dean was looking forward to watching him get his diploma. “Maybe he gets this shit more than either of us do.”

Hell, that might’ve been the case before Cas ever even met them. His former profession, his former life—it relied heavily on being able to read people, to understand what made them tick with very little information. He had the knowledge, but it also came naturally for him.

Sam thought it might help, actually. Just as he once read medical journals and textbooks to understand what he was doing, a primer on depression and mental health could be exceedingly helpful. And Cas had been capable of healing at one point, too. It worked differently for him. He could actually see what happened, but he might still have tips.

While considering it, he missed the most important part of this conversation: that Dean was willing to talk about it openly and seek further aid in feeling better. “I think he could help a lot,” Sam said finally. “I think we can make this better.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”


	8. The Chain

Pardoning brief breaks for meals, Sam, Bobby, and Frank spent nearly all their time researching. They took notes. They searched for specific books. They even made a few calls, to see if anyone else in a loose network of hunters had seen or heard anything.

It wasn’t all fruitless. Frank found a reference in some writing by a monk, circa 1100 A.D. It was in Old English, but Bobby could read it, with only minor difficulty. The text, reprinted into an anthology, described an “áglæcwíf”—a vile monster in the shape of a woman—that appeared in the center of a small town. It created “forsworcennes,” or a darkening of the area around it. While that alone would be promising, the writer repeated the word “feaxnes” many times in the description. Hair. Not hairy, like a beast, but a notable head of hair.

Since some of the words had to be looked up, the exact translation took time.

The figure did not move for a whole day and night, and no villager would dare approach it. The author described the people as terribly disturbed by the creature. They barricaded their doors but did not rest. They feared it had come to take their children. In the morning, the áglæcwíf walked toward the public well. “Hringede”—with a ringing of bells—and a “seldcúþ”—strange—gait. It drank from the water and in doing so, poisoned it with blackness.

A younger monk, bravest among them, approached the creature and began to pray. The Lord’s Prayer first, and then other Bible passages that were listed to the writer’s best memory. This upset the áglæcwíf, who gripped the stone edge of the well and caused it to break. When the monk asked for its name, believing it to be a demon, the creature released a horrible noise, which the author compared to a cat fighting for its life. The earth trembled.

Bobby stopped for a moment and muttered a word he didn’t recognize: “lómlíoe.” He repeated it. Before he could check his historical dictionary, Sam spoke from the other end of the room. “Locusts.”

“Locusts and… béogang. Bees. A swarm of bees?” Bobby sat back, frustrated. “I can’t tell what he means here. He’s saying the village experienced locusts and bees, but it doesn’t seem like they were actually there, attacking or anything.”

Dean knew this one, and he was happy to contribute something. “No, it’s the buzzing. You know, like how those things sound. When the thing showed up, I got one hell of a headache, and I heard the loudest buzzing ever. I thought I was gonna go deaf, man. And covering my ears didn’t help.” He gave them a look that they immediately understood. His actions didn’t help because it wasn’t regular noise. It was a one-way broadcast straight into Dean’s head.

“Right,” Bobby turned back to the text. But there wasn’t much left.

The hero of the story involuntarily approached the monster in a strange manner—the author didn’t elaborate—but the well between them did not stop him. He was drawn forth across it as though the air itself held him upright. The áglæcwíf placed its hand over his eyes, and when it let go, they were white. It lifted him with strength not representative of its small body and dropped him suddenly. Just as it had arrived, the creature disappeared into nothingness. Their author noted that the townspeople found the young monk dead, his back broken. Clergymen gave him last rights, collected his body, and buried him with full Catholic ceremonies. The man was treated as a martyr, having seemingly saved the villagers from harm.

The writer sounded skeptical about that last part, Bobby thought.

While the tome almost certainly described the same creature, it provided very little help in identifying or fighting it. Latin probably wouldn’t work, nor anything related to Christianity. There was no indication as to why the creature picked this small town in England, almost a thousand years ago, what it wanted, or why it did absolutely nothing for so long. Would the monk have lived if he hadn’t started chanting at it? Did the prayer specifically offend the creature? Why were so many witnesses left alive?

The modus operandi fit almost perfectly with what happened to Dean, minus the murder part.

“We need to find more accounts like this,” Frank said into the quiet of the room. “If it does this a lot, maybe there’s a pattern. Maybe we’ll get some new information.”

Bobby nodded. Anthologies would be a good bet. Collections of historical accounts of monsters and legends loosely based on real events. Some of the books had been put together by other hunters, before Bobby’s time. Others were simply investigations from normal people. He had more than a hundred good candidates in his giant collection. Ones where he strongly believed the tales were genuine accounts and not just somebody’s imagination.

They would start with Europe and the U.S., but Asia and Africa could just as easily have stories about this thing. For the time being, and lacking a real name, they would refer to it as áglæcwíf. Dean had trouble with the pronunciation, but he figured he’d get it eventually.

The group took a breather. Locating more relevant stories would be no easy task, and this was the sort of thing you couldn’t find on Google. The trio took the opportunity to spend a little time together in their room.

Cas had Dean’s shirt off before Sam even got there. With a weight lifted off his soulmate, he had no trouble enjoying carnal things. Dean noticed his arrival and waved for him to join them. There were times where each pair wanted one-on-one connections, but that wasn’t the case now. Sam immediately climbed into bed and began kissing him near his ear and neck. Cas pulled his own shirt off and got to work on Dean’s pants. He was careful to touch him as much as possible, for maximum effect.

The center of attention let out a moan. “This is too much.”

“Already?!” Cas paused, near Dean’s knees.

Sam paid it no mind. He continued to tease him, using his mouth expertly. He paused only for an instant, to taste him with the tip of his tongue and hold Dean’s head still with one hand. With resolve, he reached down behind him and into his boxers. When Dean gasped, he grinned.

The jeans were quickly defeated, so Cas crept back upwards, skipping the most sensitive areas for now in favor of some similar mouth-work on Dean’s chest and stomach. Their target gripped at the sheets of the bed and tried not to make any noises. The interior walls and floors of this place were paper thin. Any noise, any moaning or even loud talking, would certainly be heard by the people below. Dean’s concern over being heard only made Cas want to excite him further.

But the angel needed a creative solution to one big issue. With the three of them at work, the bed might move—rhythmically—in a way that would be easily identifiable. Of course, if they got caught, Sam could always say he was in the shower or something while the other two got busy. But everyone would still know sex occurred. They strongly preferred the privacy, despite how fun it was to tantalize Dean.

So, Cas shed the rest of his clothing and quietly climbed on top of Dean. When the man looked fearful, he produced a small bottle of lubricant—one of Sam’s purchases while his soulmate was in jail. It took only seconds to apply it to the right places, and, with perfect efficiency, he slid him inside.

An up and down motion would be the most effective, but it would also be noisy. A slow, deliberate undulation, however, could get the job done in relative silence. Dean grabbed him by the hips. Cas needed both arms to steady himself, but he still got in a few deep kisses whenever he was close enough to do so. For Sam’s part, he used Dean’s sitting position to his advantage. Just enough room for his fingers to move with precision. He stopped to remove his clothes and add a little lubrication—made things easier—and got right back to work. He nibbled on Dean’s ear, which earned him a very soft moan.

The rockstar of this particular encounter was most assuredly Cas. He got Dean there in no time at all and mercilessly finished him off with a smile on his face. Sam could feel his soulmate’s muscles tighten and then relax. He removed his hand, choosing to help Cas dismount with minimal sound. Dean leaned back and breathed out as the two moved away from the bed. Eventually, he pointed at both of them. With an accusative tone, “You jerks.”

Sam stifled a laugh. He grabbed the angel and kissed him dramatically. 

They sure as hell weren’t done, even if Dean was. Rather than try to include him in their continued fun, Sam decided it might be better to give a show. He whispered something to Cas, who grinned and agreed with a nod.

The two stepped quietly over to a sturdy chair. Sam partially climbed on top of it, and after a brief reapplication, Cas immediately entered him. Now it was the younger Winchester’s turn not to betray their current activity to the others. And he could be rather vocal under the right circumstances. He just controlled it slightly better than Dean.

Their voyeur moved only enough to watch, turning onto his side.

Cas took hold of Sam somewhat forcefully. He felt him, hard and hot to the touch, before synching his strokes with some well-placed thrusts. Sweat beaded on Sam’s skin. With his free hand, Cas held him by the jaw, pulling his head back a little.

Dean watched with a hint of amusement. No matter how many times he watched them do pretty much exactly this, the amount of welcomed roughness still seemed novel. Cas didn’t act like that with Dean—at all—and Sam was somewhere in the middle. Each one of their individual sexual relationships differed vastly, and the one he was watching involved a considerable amount of kink.

They were probably holding back, actually. Both for Dean’s comfort level and for sake of not alerting their housemates. Still, he watched as Sam gritted his teeth, a small amount of actual pain entering into the equation. Dean would’ve told Cas to ease up if he didn’t know better. But in this case, pain was the point. And it enhanced their encounter. Dean could understand that, though he rarely participated in things like this.

As Sam’s arousal reached its peak, his soulmate found himself getting turned on again, too. Not enough for another round, but enjoyable still. He watched intently as Sam climaxed into Cas’s hand—careful not to make a mess. It took about a minute or so longer for the angel to get his reward, too.

They disconnected, looked at each other, and smiled. A box of tissues aided in quick cleanup, but showers—sadly individual—would soon follow. Since Cas did most of the work, he got the first one. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the bathroom.

Sam sauntered back over to the bed. His face was flushed and his hair wet from the workout. He bent down and kissed him passionately.

When they came up for air, Dean held onto him. “You two are—pretty energetic.”

He blushed further. “Too much?”

“No.” The show was only partly for him. How they enjoyed themselves, how they liked being together, wasn’t up for critique. “It’s hot.”

Sam laughed and kissed him again. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

Their make-out session continued unabated until Cas returned. Sam reluctantly took his turn in the shower. They couldn’t be gone too long, or people might start to think. The fact that all three of them decided to wash up would be suspicious enough.

Cas chose a hastier approach to the time they had left. He needed to go downstairs to maintain appearances, but he really didn’t want to. There were only so many things he could accomplish around the house, helping Ellen manage the hunters. And he didn’t quite have the know-how to aid in the research, except to occasionally do some translating. As an angel, he once knew all languages. But much of that information faded away during his living years and time in the Kingdom. Most of the ones he still knew were modern, kept around for their potential importance.

He got partially dressed and lounged next to Dean for a minute. “Did you have fun?”

How many times had he asked that at the beginning of their relationship? Cas always wanted to bring more light into his life, to alleviate the stress, to make him happy. The phrase returned with a bit of weight to it. Was he having fun—now that his depression was more manageable? Regardless, the answer would be the same. “Oh yeah.”

They kissed just once. Cas eyed him up one more time before redressing completely and going downstairs. Dean’s heart was still racing after he left.

***

Cas caught a look from Frank as he descended the stairs. “How’s the research going?” he asked before the man could suspect anything.

“Slow.” He sighed. “We know where to look now, but that’s not making it much easier. You wanna take a look?” He had no idea if Cas could be of any help. His eyes hurt, however, and he was starting to feel worn down.

The angel shook his head, but maintained a well-manufactured friendly expression. “I don’t know anything about this stuff,” he replied semi-honestly. “Sorry. But if you need anything. Food, drink, whatever, just let me know.”

Frank would’ve loved a beer or maybe some whiskey. But this house was completely dry. One couldn’t relapse as an alcoholic if there was no alcohol to relapse on. The others—Ellen included—had to make that relatively minor sacrifice in order to be here. No one really wanted to screw up Bobby’s sobriety. They would have to find other ways to cope with the anxiety of having a creature after them, whether it be frequent breaks, regular meals, casual conversation, or whatever worked.

Like sex.

With the potential crisis averted, Cas headed for the kitchen. He could help with dinner at least.

But Bobby didn’t let him make it that far. He grabbed him by the wrist. When Cas turned, he saw that the man appeared angry. “What—”

“You damn well _do_ know about this stuff,” he accused in a low voice.

Cas wrenched his arm away. “Not in a helpful way,” he returned. “I can’t speak or read any historical languages now. I wouldn’t know where to look even if I did. And I have no idea what this thing is.” Or how to protect his family and the others from it. “Don’t you think I’d be helping if I had anything to contribute?” He liked Bobby, but he didn’t appreciate being attacked like this.

He persisted. “You gotta know this thing. If it’s old, it was around when you were on full blast. Just fucking think for a second.”

The hunter reeked of desperation. He worked so hard to have a relatively secure life here. He wasn’t going to lose it. But his anger was misplaced. Bobby never asked for the specifics about Cas’s transformation. He didn’t know that some of himself was lost completely or that, as time went on, many of the less important memories drifted away. The angel held onto the places, for use in the Kingdom, so that he and the Winchesters wouldn’t get bored. But the languages and much of the history of the earth simply didn’t matter to him anymore. The information’s sudden usefulness wouldn’t bring it back.

Cas leaned in closer to the man, a successful attempt at intimidation that, quite frankly, caught him completely by surprise. “Back off,” he threatened. “I have done nothing but try and help you. I’m not some magic encyclopedia. I’m not what you want me to be. But don’t you dare think I wouldn’t do everything in my power to protect and defend us.”

Bobby’s rage fizzled out instead of escalating. He rubbed the top of his head for a moment. “My apologies.” He backed away. “We’re all a little on edge.”

A little?

As much as he tried, he couldn’t stay angry with the old man. At his core, Bobby just wanted everyone in his house to be safe. Just as Cas did. “Try to stay calm,” he instructed. In this moment, he sounded less human than he intended. Correcting, “Everybody needs to see that.” Lead by example.

“Are you calm?” he asked after a long pause.

Cas shook his head subtly. “I don’t have to be. I just have to make sandwiches.” And worry deeply about the others. A tempest raged beneath his skin. As time went on without another attack, he saw the others begin to hope they were in the clear. But he didn’t think so. He knew, deep down, that this thing was still coming for them. The only variable was if they would be ready or not.

Bobby took a long look at him. He didn’t know if he fully believed the angel—or should—but he didn’t have any leverage to find out otherwise. And he wouldn’t do anything to hurt or even upset the boys. For now, he would have to accept that Cas’s involvement would be minimal.

He turned to go back to the main living area, but stopped. “That sword of yours is hidden under a loose floorboard in the hall outside your room. The girl gave it to us. If that thing comes back, you might need it.”

With that, he left Cas to think over the revelation alone.

It _was_ one of the most powerful weapons he knew about. It could stand a chance against a creature as strong as the áglæcwíf. He quietly wondered what other weapons might be lying around this house. Could Bobby have the Colt, too? And other things he couldn’t even fathom? The man collected things. It was part of his profession. He might already have everything they needed to kill this creature.

Or, it could all be useless. They really had no way to tell until they knew more. He hoped the others would find what they needed soon. In the meantime, he would keep them fed and hydrated, and provide some physical comfort to his two most favorite people.


	9. Immigrant Song

In the next three days, the research continued. Bobby and Frank burned through book after book, noting anything that might be helpful. Dean assisted them wherever possible, and helped with speculation. Ellen fielded calls from other hunters who wanted to help—a few of which came by with even more books—and Sam continued his work on the internet.

As the sun set on the third day, they had collected a handful of anecdotes. Dean wrote them down on a large dry-erase board as a loose timeline of events. Nearby, a small drawn box contained the most useful information about the monster.

The Norman era manuscript was technically the oldest piece of writing on the subject, but other types of stories seemed to imply this creature could be as old as civilization. In a single book—filled with transcriptions of oral traditions and legends from native cultures—they found three mentions. A group in the Amazon told of a creature with gray skin and long hair that came and blinded their leader and his wife before tossing them a great distance away. The chief died; the wife survived. But she would live the rest of her years as a mute. The group strongly believed they were being punished for hunting more animals than they needed, and the story served as a warning to never repeat such an error.

A nomadic group in northern Asia used the creature as a sort of boogeyman, to keep children and young adults from misbehaving. According to the legend, if you were lax in your duties or you got a girl pregnant without marrying her, the кара рух (kara ruh)—dark spirit—would come and take your sight and voice. It might even kill you or someone you care about. The speaker being transcribed said that the kara ruh frightened horses and reindeer, sometimes to the point of permanent feral behavior. There was no indication of a specific incident, but the description fit. It walked with the sound of bells and howled like a dying lynx.

The final transcript, from India, was more of a guide to protecting against a handful of local legends—evil creatures that took advantage of otherwise helpless villagers. Dean didn’t recognize any of the others, but when the speaker got to the kālē jānavara—which after some further research seemed to mean “black beast” in Punjabi—the usefulness of this piece became clear. There was a short description of the creature, similar to all the others, and a speculation that this thing was related in some way to the ancient Hindu goddess Jyestha, known for bringing misfortune and sorrow. Perhaps a child of her or something created alongside her from spiritual poison. The physical description didn’t match, as the goddess was depicted as an overweight woman with a visible face similar to that of an elephant.

But the legend of the goddess and the things their creature seemed to want were not too different. It would come when times were either too good—to stop them—or very rough—to enjoy them. A sort of evil balancer. It was possible that the story might even be backwards. Perhaps Jyestha was a combo of meeting their creature and a need to depict it in an ugly manner. There was no way to know for sure. No one even worshipped that deity anymore. One more anomaly: Jyestha was rarely considered terrifying, just troublesome. Both the speaker and hunters agreed that the kālē jānavara was worthy of fear.

As the story moved to protection, things got interesting. Apparently, the creature frequented several small towns in Southern India, taking the sight and voice of at least one person each time, and killing them more often than not. It was always a male that died. This part the speaker was sure of. Though women could be affected, they would survive the encounter—and often become social outcasts as a result. The sparing of women resulted in communal praying and offerings to Jyestha, with the hope that she would call off her evil buddy and leave them the hell alone.

When prayer didn’t work, some of the elders of the villages began experimenting with things to ward off the beast. During this time, six more men were killed. The villagers all donned the color saffron, hoping it would bring them salvation. It had no effect. They put out bowls of milk, a food strongly favored by Lord Krishna, hoping that he would protect them. They even rubbed it on their skin and bathed in it. Still, no effect. In desperation, the elders tried to identify future targets of the kālē jānavara. They met in secret and discussed the lives of the men killed. All under forty but beyond puberty. All without children. Some were married but most weren’t. Though efforts were made to blame a woman in their lives for this problem, as Jyestha required worship from good wives, they couldn’t make a connection. Perhaps, they thought, having (or not having) children was the identifying factor.

With this information, they focused on the childless men among them. They encouraged them to marry and reproduce, for their own safety. Many of the men took the advice, and marriages quadrupled during this time.

As part of the ceremonies, the skin of these men and their new wives were anointed with turmeric, a sacred spice, mixed into water. Bobby explained that this was standard procedure for Hindu weddings, and it was still done today. In one village, on the night of their only of-age, childless man’s wedding, the kālē jānavara returned and approached him for harvest.

“Does it really say ‘harvest’?” Dean made a face. There was something particularly creepy about monsters that took pieces of people for their own use. Somehow, it seemed worse than them simply eating their victims, which at least looked more like something an animal would do.

Bobby double-checked the word. The translation said ‘harvest’ in the text, but he wanted to make sure. After a moment, he nodded. “Harvest. I guess they think that this thing is taking people’s sight and voices to power itself or to use in some way.” He sighed. “I’m not sure, though. It could be a side effect of whatever this thing is really doing.” When no one wanted to continue the conversation, he turned back to the text.

On the night of the wedding, the kālē jānavara came to harvest the young man mid-celebration. But his new wife stepped between them and ordered the creature to stop. It screamed at her, and the attendees all fell to the ground, clutching at their ears, even after the screeching stopped. Buzzing, the hunters surmised. But the wife stood strong. She would not become a widow on her wedding day.

The monster reached for her face, to blind her and take her voice, but it recoiled. In an instant, it disappeared and reappeared behind the husband, where it tried to do the same thing. But it could not. It screamed again, and the ground shook. The bride’s father approached, confident he would not be harmed due to his age. With him, he brought a bowl of turmeric paste. He flicked some of it at the kālē jānavara, and it retreated. He did it again, to the same result. As some of the villagers recovered, they saw what he did and copied him, bringing all the turmeric that the town had. They surrounded the vile thing and poured the mixture around its feet. Together, the villagers ordered it to leave, dousing it with the spice. Turning its grey and black appearance a brilliant yellow. It writhed and howled—and in the blink of an eye, it vanished.

The speaker said that while the villagers believed they defeated the kālē jānavara, they made certain to have extra reserves of turmeric, possibly even to this day. No further deaths occurred there, and they never saw the thing again.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, looking up from his own research online.

Dean quickly wrote “TUMERIC” on the board. It was misspelled, but they understood. “Do we have any of this stuff in the house?”

Bobby shook his head. Neither he nor Ellen were particularly into spicy food, and they only had a gisted understanding of Hindu rituals. It never even occurred to them that a ceremonial procedure from Southeast Asian weddings might come in handy. An error they would hopefully live to correct. “No, but we sure as hell are gonna get some.” He immediately stood and grabbed his coat. After a moment of thought he tossed a pair of keys to Frank and one to Dean, as well. “I don’t think we’re gonna find a lot of this stuff,” he explained. “We’re gonna have to clear out different grocery stores. Divide and conquer.”

Sam moved to join Dean, but he stopped him. “We still don’t know enough about this big bad. It could be stronger now than it was then. And we don’t know how to kill it. Please, just keep doing your thing.” His eyes told a different story. He believed he was the primary target, and he didn’t want Sam with him unless he could protect him. The same was true for Cas. Even if Bobby’s house was only a fraction safer, it seemed better than being out in the open.

The younger Winchester moved to object but changed his mind. He didn’t know how to argue without giving their relationship away to Frank. And he knew Dean very much wanted to avoid dealing with the questions and problems the revelation could cause. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to his work as the three men left.

It’d taken days, but he found some tech-savvy hunters on a special server they made. When he convinced them through basic hunter knowledge that he was one of them, they invited him in. They had an instant-messaging system, a forum, and a handful of web pages with helpful links. Upon inquiry, other information was available. Contacts. Maps. Where and how to get rare supplies.

While all of this might have been useful, what he really wanted was a searchable archive of some kind, featuring similar texts to the ones they were paging through at a snail’s pace. He befriended an admin—and possible hacker—that went by “hntr,” and asked him or her if such an archive existed.

Yes. But it wasn’t made by hunters. It belonged to a university, and it was behind a paywall, with the rarest collections costing even more. While money was no problem for Sam and the rest, hntr assured him that they wouldn’t have to spend a dime. What good were hunters in a digital age if they couldn’t manipulate technology in their favor? The mysterious user left the conversation for about fifteen minutes and then came back, providing Sam with a login and password. “Good luck.”

He accessed the archive, which contained hundreds of thousands of works from around the world. It endeavored to be the best and most complete collection of histories, cultural artifacts, poetry, and literature. A basic subscription costed more than a grand per month, and that excluded almost a quarter of the items available. As such, it was typically bought as a service by an institution, for workers or students to use.

Sam had used much smaller versions of this when he was pre-law. He would look up court cases and cite them in essays. Stanford paid for it. Now, he faced a more daunting task. To try and find a needle in a pile of slightly smaller needles. It would not be easy.

He was running a search for the word “bells” plus “blindness,” when Cas appeared at the doorway. Resting loosely in his hands was a familiar silver object he’d almost forgotten existed. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, setting the laptop down on a small table next to him. Each search took a few minutes, and then he would have to sift through the results.

“Bobby had it,” his companion said simply. With no one to judge them—and Ellen sitting outside on the porch, he slid into Sam’s lap and kissed him. His fingers ran across the sword, careful not to go anywhere near the blade. “Maybe we can use this too.”

Turmeric seemed like more of a temporary fix. While Ellen would be safe regardless, so long as she stayed out of the creature’s way, the rest of them would have to wear it and try to protect the house with it. They couldn’t be certain that Bobby and Frank were too old to be affected. Obviously, the trio didn’t have children, either, and they weren’t lining up to become sperm donors. With angel energy in the mix, who knew what would happen to the development of a child? It wouldn’t be safe for the mother, and it could be horrible in general.

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. For now, the closeness made him feel safer than the sword ever could. He relaxed as Cas leaned back against him. It felt good not to hide for a while.

***

Dean really hoped his comrades were having more luck. There were exactly three small containers of the stuff at his second stop, and none at his first. Unless they planned to stop bathing, they would go through the spice in no time. He tossed the bag with his purchase onto the passenger seat and set off for another store. He took the south, while Bobby and Frank went Northeast and Northwest respectively. Only Bobby new a handful of locations for groceries, the other two used cellphone searches and dumb luck to find theirs. Dean’s was a less populated but bigger area.

He shifted the Mustang up a gear. Even with a few canisters of protection, he felt exposed out on the road, and he didn’t want to leave Cas and Sam for too long. He rolled to a stop at an intersection and his stomach twisted into a knot.

In the middle of the road, just standing there like it had before, was their special friend. Complete with a darkening area around it, impossibly long hair, and no visible face. He froze. He didn’t think driving through it would help, and as it started to walk erratically toward him, he couldn’t make himself peel out.

With trembling hands, he reached into the bag and pulled out one of the canisters, barely the size of a pepper shaker. He fumbled with the protective packaging, spilling some into his lap in the process. “Fuck,” he looked up at the thing, which was now in front of his bumper. “Fuck!”

He didn’t have any water, but he would make due. He licked his thumb and stuck it into the powder and rubbed the stuff onto his cheeks, just below his eyes, which watered in response to the foreign substance. It had a very strong smell, and he felt like he needed to sneeze. Gulping, Dean applied a long streak of the yellow spice to his forehead. A little more on his chin, neck, and hands.

The jingling of bells signaled the arrival of the monster—whose many names he couldn’t pronounce—at his side window. He didn’t want to look up. This thing scared the shit out of him. It didn’t even seem to be that dangerous to most people, but it wanted him for something, and it probably wanted Sam and Cas, too.

He couldn’t fly. He was too far away from anything he recognized, and this creature had no problem following him the last time. He still needed more recovery time before he’d be able to do big jumps.

There was a clicking sound as the creature’s jewelry touched the half-rolled up window. He could see the outline of it in the corner of his vision. It didn’t breathe as far as he could tell, and he tried not to. But there was a low sound emanating from it, a sort of hum that sputtered. A gray hand appeared in front of his face. He felt like he could jump out of his skin.

Instead, he reached inside himself for a scrap of courage. Scooping up a little more of the spice, he pushed the hand away. The creature let out a hiss. Some of the black smoke filled the cab for a moment but quickly exited through the window. He let out a breath.

When he looked again, the monster stood several yards away, pointed in his general direction and watching—if it could watch, that is. He sniffed. Trying to compose himself, he closed the container and put it on the dashboard. Still covered in yellow, Dean turned his borrowed vehicle around and broke every speed limit on the way back to Bobby’s.

A mile or so out, he called his mentor to inform him of what occurred. He, in turn, told Frank. But the two older men stayed out, confident that they could protect themselves if needed with what supplies they already purchased.

Dean found Ellen lounging on the porch in the same position she’d been when he left. She was playing some kind of game on her phone, and seemed to be very involved in it. The moment his door opened, however, she put it down and grimaced. “You look like shit.”

She didn’t tip-toe around things. “Yeah, no, I’m peachy.”

When she noticed the yellow powder, “I take it you had a run-in with our kālē jāna-whatever.” She stood and held the door open for him. “It’s been quiet here, if you’re worried.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief at that. With his magic dust in hand, he went inside. The two of them found Cas and Sam wedged into a chair, half-heartedly looking through scans of old documents on the laptop. They looked up at him simultaneously, but only the angel got up immediately. “Oh god.” He wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him, some of the turmeric getting on his nose. “Dean, I—are you okay?”

Though he nodded, it wasn’t convincing. Physically, yes, but he felt shaken to the core. Sam appeared at his side and kissed him above the ear. With hands that still shook wildly, he opened the same container he’d used earlier and began applying it to the faces of his lovers.

Halfway through Cas’s treatment, the angel gently grabbed his hand and shook his head. He could take it from there. He motioned for Dean to take a seat. With two fingers, he applied the aromatic spice to Sam. Lovingly. Carefully. The man stood there transfixed as it happened, and he returned the favor for Cas when he was finished.

Sam turned to look at his soulmate, who gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He reached for him and touched his face. With the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped a little of the powder away from Dean’s eyes, which looked red and irritated. He provided a soft kiss. “It’s gonna be okay.” He tried to assure him. “We have a way to protect ourselves now.”

Both the angel and Sam expected an emotional breakdown. Dean never got this scared without one. But as they watched him, he slowly calmed himself, reined in his emotions, and relaxed the muscles in his arms.

From behind them, Ellen cleared her throat. “So, the stuff works, yes?”

Sam didn’t even know she was there until she spoke. Not that he really minded. They didn’t do anything particularly scandalous in his mind, and she already knew about their _complex_ relationship.

“Yeah, I guess,” was all he said at first. But then he saw the angel sword, sitting casually between a can of soda and the computer. “Wait, what the hell?”

Ellen saw it, too, but her mood actually improved. “Oh! I forgot we even had that.” Then, “We actually have a bunch of you boys’ stuff. You know, from before. Gimme a sec.” She took off up the stairs, and they heard a door open and then slam closed.

The three looked at each other with equal parts unease and surprise. Cas knew that Rosa had given Bobby the sword, but he didn’t know about anything else.

After a minute or so, she returned with a handful of things. The most important among them? A very special necklace. Dean’s mouth dropped open, and he tried not to tear up in front of them. She handed it over with a proud smile. “With everything goin’ on, it slipped my mind.”

To be honest, the older Winchester assumed he’d been buried with it, and that it was in a grave somewhere, possibly still attached to a corpse. He took it from her with a grateful nod and put it on. The weight of it felt perfect. It served to calm him further. A familiar watch was returned to Sam, along with a handful of polaroids from safer times.

“We have a couple of your books, too.” She gestured toward the mess that was their research operation. “They’re in there somewhere.” After a few seconds to think it over, “And that gun. The magic one. But you’ll have to ask Bobby where he stashed it.” She patted Cas on the shoulder, as he was the closest of the three of them. “Let me know if I can help spread that stuff around or mix it with something.”

For now, they were content just having some the protective makeup.


	10. Kashmir

Frank and Bobby returned a few hours later, whereupon they were filled in on Dean’s little run-in. It was neither convenient nor fun to be covered in spice powder, so Ellen got to work making a paste. That way, they could apply concentrated amounts to smaller areas, and it would stick for longer. Bobby had the idea of mixing a bunch of it into some paint, too, and doing a ring around all the windows and doors. If necessary, he would cover the walls.

They didn’t have an unlimited supply of turmeric, but they had more than Dean expected. Frank found an Indian restaurant—still quite rare for South Dakota—and paid the manager a great deal of money for a large brick of the stuff. He also lucked out at a couple stores. Bobby brought in a decent amount, as well. They could always go out for more if needed.

Bobby waited until the paste was ready before applying a small amount of it to his cheeks. He was an old-timer. He didn’t think the kālē jānavara wanted anything to do with him. When he passed a bowl of the mixture off to Frank, the man waved it away. “I love curry, but I don’t need it.” He’d actually grabbed some lunch before making his biggest purchase.

“What?” Sam questioned from the other room.

Frank walked over to him. “It goes after people with no kids. I have a kid.”

The trio thought they would’ve known this fact by now, but Frank wasn’t exactly the type to open up. He mostly just made small talk or discussed the job. Still, it surprised them, as he’d made no attempt to contact anyone when they left Detroit.

He looked out on a room full of confused faces. “I have a daughter. Her name’s Marie, and she lives in Minnesota with her mother—and step-father.” He sighed. “I haven’t seen her in a really long time. She’s sixteen now.” He produced a worn picture of a young child from his wallet and showed it to the others. The girl in the picture had to be seven or eight. A long time, indeed. “I’m more than happy to help fight this thing, but I’m not worried about it coming for me. Save that stuff for you guys.”

Before anyone could comment, he noticed the shiny metal object that had been carelessly left out. “Okay, what’s that? It looks badass.”

Cas’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. But Dean looked over at it and shrugged. “It’s a sword made by angels,” he said simply. “Got it on a job. It’s pretty powerful shit.”

“We could use all the help we can get,” Sam added from across the room. He’d curled up in the corner with his new project, and had been at it nonstop for at least an hour. He called Cas over now and then if he thought there was a summary in a modern language that he might be able to read.

Frank strongly suspected they were keeping something from him. He’d been a hunter since before he could vote, and a cop for decades. They were good liars—because they were also hunters—but not good enough to completely avoid suspicion. He studied the three of them for a moment, trying to figure it out. He’d never met an angel. Didn’t even believe they existed until meeting Dean Winchester. But while the name was mentioned often, the trio consistently failed to elaborate on them. So, either there was no such thing as angels, or they had some deeper connection to angels that they didn’t want to talk about.

Whatever it was, Bobby didn’t seem bothered by the answer. Frank filed the information away, along with a handful of other questions he didn’t think would be well-received. Like everything having to do with how the Winchesters got powers. And Cas’s history in general.

He had learned a bit about their lives, at least. That Dean enjoyed both women and men, but was definitely in a long-term relationship with Cas, which as far he could tell was short for Lucas. That Sam seemed disinterested in anything but work and would be absolutely vital if someone got injured. That Bobby and Ellen married later in life, but seemed incredibly happy.

What he didn’t know could fill up all the books in this house.

To an extent, Frank felt welcomed, as he imagined many other hunters had been. This was a hub of information and protection. He got the impression that the Winchesters spent a lot of time here, that they considered the place something like a home. Cas had a position here, too, but not in the same way. He and Ellen seemed to be close though. They worked as a cohesive unit when it came to taking care of the others’ needs. They were outliers and yet essential to the group.

Frank took a seat next to Sam, and peered over at the screen. It may as well have been one of the books they were pouring through. The healer’s eyes moved rapidly as he scanned the page before moving on to another.

“Find anything?” he asked eventually.

Sam nodded and handed over a page full of notes, written in near-perfect legibility. There was a fine layer of yellow dust on it. As it turned out, he’d found two things already.

The first was an anecdotal mention in a Victorian-era medical tome about blindness. A doctor described a mute patient and immigrant from Bulgaria conveyed in writing a crazy story about how she ended up in her condition. When asked how she could prove such a thing, she wrote simply “They all saw it.” Before more information could be gathered—or anyone could have the poor woman committed to the hellish institutions of the time period—she hung herself. The writer only mentioned it because the story unnerved him. He said that she held a strong belief in the story and that she didn’t think a doctor could help her.

To an extent, she was right. An examination of the eyes showed extensive damage and clouding. The physician couldn’t even shine a light very far into them to properly assess the issue. He hadn’t seen anything like it, except in cadavers. It was as though she carried around a pair of dead eyes that just didn’t decay beyond a certain point. He made a note that there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with her vocal chords and chalked the mutism up to psychosis.

The second find was a diary entry by a black American woman—a former slave—shortly after the Civil War. She recounted coming down with fever as young girl. There were whispers that she wouldn’t pull through. The others tried to keep her cool, but it was summer, and she lived in a crowded shack smaller than a modern studio apartment. Her mother died two years prior, and the woman who cared for her had eight children of her own. She was not a priority. They assumed she would die.

On the third night, she had visions of people standing around her, staring. Watching her suffer. She lost consciousness, and when she awoke to the sound of bells, it was only one, terrifying person. A creature with skin like the dead. With straight hair like the master’s daughter, but terribly long. And with no face. No face at all. It touched her arm. Though it did not hurt, she would later find a scar there that had no explanation.

The next day, the fever broke. As she recovered, the enslaved people around her slowly learned of a death in the master’s family. His twenty-year-old nephew, vile even by the plantation’s standards, died the same night she received her visitor. They had to break into his room, which was locked from the inside. There were many rumors about the state of his body, but consistently, it was mentioned that his eyes turned white as a sheet, that his neck was broken, and that he’d been found bent over backwards in a horribly unnatural position.

Though the master’s family suspected their slaves were involved, they could prove nothing. They raided the shacks for signs of voodoo or tools that didn’t belong, but found no such thing. None of the children even had dolls. And the whereabouts of all the folks in the house were accounted for. The slaves pretended to mourn the man’s loss. But they were relieved to be rid of him.

She survived ten more years as an enslaved soul, where she quite secretly learned to read and write. She kept a hidden journal, knowing full well that she would be killed or worse for it if they ever found out. When freedom came, she moved to the north, took a job as a tailor’s assistant, and kept writing until her death in the 1920s. She never married or had children of her own. Her journals were found by the tailor and kept in his family for two generations before they were sold in an estate sale and their real value was discovered.

Sam wished he had time to read the whole thing. The woman—Evelyn—seemed nothing short of remarkable. But there were literally thousands of pages. A lifetime of information.

Frank handed the notes back and stood up. He walked over to the board where they kept the communal information and added the two stories to their timeline. He noticed with a hint of amusement that, at some point, Dean corrected his misspelling.

After a moment to ponder the case, he added “Healing?” under “TURMERIC” and the description of the type of targets. The girl’s fever got better right after she met their creature. Could be a coincidence, but it was worth noting. Furthermore, “Why does fatherhood matter?” He had a few ideas. Perhaps it had something to do with not orphaning a child or picking men who were physically stronger and younger.

“I think it’s about energy,” Sam said quietly from his corner. When the statement garnered him attention from not only Frank, but Dean and Bobby, he straightened his back so everyone could see him. “I think men who haven’t had children have more energy in their bodies. I think they give some of it away to their offspring. Not enough for a person to notice, but a monster…”

Frank blinked. “What do you mean by energy?”

Careful, Sam thought. “Everybody who’s human has a soul, which is essentially a bunch of energy. The energy leaves the body when you die.” And returns miraculously if something drags you back. “As far as I can tell, sickness and disability don’t affect how strong that energy is, but age does. And I think, so does having kids. It’s a really minor change, but it’s there.”

In other words, Frank had less energy in him than the other people in the room. “How do you know that?”

“To heal someone, you have to know what’s wrong. I can’t see it, but I can kinda feel it. More so if I’m actually touching someone.” No point in sugar-coating what he did. The man already knew he could heal people. Dancing around the subject would just waste time. “Creatures have energy too, but it’s a different kind. Angels are literally made of energy.”

Before they could continue this discussion, Bobby cut in. “What does this have to do with our monster?”

“I think it’s taking people’s energy.” He closed the laptop. His eyes were starting to strain from staring at the screen too long. “I think the blindness and mutism is a side-effect of whatever process it uses to physically pull the energy out of a person’s body.” After a moment, “I think it doesn’t take all of the energy—which would kill a soul and the victim along with it. Still, the process would hurt like hell. Like the worst pain you could imagine.”

Dean leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together. At once, he understood why the creature was targeting him, and probably his brother, too. “We have extra energy,” he pointed out, speaking only to Sam.

His soulmate locked eyes with him before nodding. “Yeah. And if this thing can see energy—which would make a lot of sense—then we might be attracting it more than anyone else.”

“We might be a damn delicacy,” Dean groaned.

But his pessimism didn’t last very long. At once, he realized that Cas might be completely in the clear. He didn’t have any soul energy. Just the angel stuff, trimmed down and compressed to fit into a human body. Unless the creature had a taste for angels, too, but it seemed unlikely. In fact, it was possible the thing simply thought they had especially strong souls, which would provide a good meal or fuel or whatever the hell else it might be doing with the stuff.

Dean resolved to tell Cas about this when they got a free moment. He’d still have to wear their magic powder, just in case and to keep up appearances, but it was a huge relief.

“But your extra stuff isn’t human,” Frank found himself saying.

Sam nodded. “No, it isn’t. But this thing either doesn’t know that or doesn’t care. Dean has more energy than I do, so it makes sense he’s the primary target.” As much as it pained him to say. He hated knowing that his soulmate was in the line of fire—again. Moreover, he knew that if the monster tried to take his wings, it could kill the soul by accident. Dean could really, actually die. And be gone.

The thought terrified him, and he had to change the subject to avoid freaking out. “But it can’t go anywhere near us right now, so we don’t have to worry too much.” The recent close call notwithstanding.

Dean seemed to understand the implications, as well, and Sam watched as he grew pale under all that yellow dust. “Yeah, maybe.”

Bobby let out a big sigh. He’d had enough of the speculation. “We need hard facts,” he insisted. “We don’t have time to get to worrying when we still need to figure out how to kill this damn thing.”

With nods all around, the group got back to work.

***

At the end of the day, Sam found Dean in the upstairs bathroom, desperately trying to get the turmeric off of his hands. Based on the stories, he really didn’t need that much, and the yellowing of his skin made him look sickly. Jaundiced. Moreover, he wanted to try the paste on his face instead, as it might not set off his allergies as harshly. He’d sneezed dozens of times today. He felt like he had hay fever.

Sam placed his hand gently on his brother’s shoulder. He could at least take away some of the discomfort for the time being. He took a washcloth off the side of the sink and began helping him. Slowly. Softly. As much about the physical contact as the act of cleaning.

“It won’t come off,” Dean muttered.

There did seem to be some staining. The powder was gone, but his skin still looked yellowed. Sam kissed him on the cheek before pressing his nose there. “It’ll be okay.” After another minute of scrubbing, they gave up and turned the water off. Sam let the cloth go. When Dean turned to face him, they kissed more passionately. “I got you,” Sam promised.

Dean relaxed in his arms. He had no logical reason to feel safe, but he did. He really did. A few more kisses only solidified his comfort. Nothing was bad so long as he had Sam and Cas.

***

Their angel came in late that night, having accidentally fallen asleep in a chair in the house’s small sunroom. He almost took the pull-out couch, so as not to disturb them, but Sam waved him over in the darkness. As quietly as possible, he crawled into bed with them.

In the morning, Dean rose first—a surprise to the other two, who were accustomed to his heavy sleeping. He wanted to get an early start on the research, and take stock of the weapons they had. Plus, he figured his companions might like some _them_ time. He’d been the center of attention for the last few days. They could use a break.

Cas awoke when Dean closed the door. When he realized he was pretty much wrapped around Sam, with his head on the man’s chest, he smiled. He felt so warm. Though Cas had many memories like this, which they replayed in the Kingdom, each time delivered a novel experience, as if they’d never done it before. Back in the flesh, the sensations were at once new and familiar.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

Sam touched his head softly and touched his hair. He eyed the gold on the angel’s skin. Cas looked like a honeybee returning from a successful flower run. And he seemed just as happy. “You’re gorgeous.”

Blushing, Cas kissed his chest. “You’re not too bad, either.” In the dim lighting, he didn’t get the finer details, but he knew them all already. Every ridge and line. A freckle here, a scar there. Sam looked no different than the last time he saw him before their deaths—except maybe some extra stubble from neglecting his usual shaving routine. The healer didn’t have to look like a professional here. He simply had to pass as a hunter.

Sam’s hand traveled down to Cas’s collarbone. “They’re gonna want me down there soon,” he said with a touch of sadness. “I dunno how long we can—”

But Cas cut him off. “You think that shower’s big enough for two?”

The man’s mouth dropped open and then slowly formed a big smile. “We might get caught.”

“That’s half the fun.”

They knew Dean would be mortified if their relationship was revealed to Frank, as it would stand to reason that two brothers sharing the same person might share more than that. But they’d grown so accustomed to being open and to an extent carefree, even before Heaven. This new arrangement felt suffocating in comparison. And annoying.

Sam hesitated for a moment but inevitably agreed. “We just have to be quiet.” Shower sex was a favorite of his, and one of the few times he liked taking control. Cas was in the mood for that. The angel grabbed a bottle of liquid help—necessary even when surrounded by water—and they headed off to the small communal bathroom. Sam got the water ready while they broth brushed their teeth, eyeing each other up along the way.

Steam surrounded them in the shower box, and for a moment they just let the hot water sooth them. But a few exuberant kisses was all it took. Sam steadied himself, grabbed Cas by the waist, and hoisted him up. With his back literally against the wall, Cas wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders. His legs clamped onto him for further support. He barely flinched when Sam entered him.

It took a considerable amount of strength to keep the angel off the ground, but Sam had it, and he didn’t have to worry about sore muscles or cramping. He leaned in close until his forehead touched the wall. Grinning, he carefully worked his way in and out of his companion. It took a little while for him to get the rhythm right, but once he did? Oh my. Cas couldn’t have been more aroused if he tried, and Sam felt just as good. Holding him up. Feeling him pressed so close. It bordered on the level of perfection they obtained over and over again in Heaven, and he certainly felt like he was there.

Sam didn’t even need to touch him otherwise for Cas to climax. The moment he felt the angel’s muscles tighten around him, he decided to try something new. When Cas had more control over his body, he could get off whenever he wanted. Maybe Sam could expedite things. He’d always wanted to come the same time as his partner.

With a thought, he told the healing energy to get the job done.

And it did. His breathing got heavier, and his body obeyed the command. As warmth from Cas hit his stomach, he provided his own in return. They gripped each other tightly. Sam’s every nerve felt like it was on fire. It was incredible.

Slowly, he disconnected and put Cas down. Kissing him deeply before backing away, Sam made sure the angel looked just as happy as he personally felt.

“That’s new,” his lover noted, out of breath.

A hesitant smile. “I’m full of surprises.”

They kissed again. Though the two turned to cleanup and then general showering, they did it as a collective force, applying soap to each other, touching a little more than necessary. They were reluctant to leave the hot water, but the others _would_ be looking for Sam soon.

Stepping out, they toweled off. Sam made to leave before Cas, but the angel grabbed his arm—not out of romance but worry. “Missing something?” He picked up a canister of turmeric kept near the shower for reapplication. Shaking it, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Sam gave a reassuring smile. “Sorry.”

Mixing the spice with a little water from the tap, Cas made an impromptu paste and applied it with love to Sam’s face. He wiped off the condensation from the mirror and did the same for himself. When it dried, it would look more like paint than powder. Cas peered over at Sam and caught him gazing intently back. He laughed. “You can go now.”

Sam slapped him on the ass and left with a spring in his step.

The angel needed a moment to compose himself. Sex with Sam was always fun. Really fun. Not like the release that Dean provided, where the act was as much emotional as physical. (Or like the Winchesters’ individual relationship, which focused mostly on emotion.) Plenty of love existed between him and Sam, but the sex was about having a fantastic time.

He took a moment to dry his hair thoroughly, because he knew Sam wouldn’t. For Dean’s sake, he could continue to play along, especially if he kept having mornings like this!


	11. Dirty Life and Times

No one really paid Cas much attention throughout the day. He helped Ellen and the others whenever possible but otherwise kind of drifted around. He felt simultaneously invisible and powerful. The angel watched everything from afar and knew the ins and outs of the job, but he kept his secrets.

Well, at least he thought he did.

Frank cornered him on the porch during a research break. He sat down between Cas and the door, and his face said that he had questions. Cas waited with trepidation for the man to get it over with. He would either lie his way out of it or do damage control, depending on how much this man knew.

But when the hunter finally opened his mouth, it wasn’t about who was banging who. “So, what do _you_ know about angels?” he asked inquisitively. “I know you said you wouldn’t be much help with the research, but it seems like you’ve been around the Winchesters long enough to get acquainted with them.” After a moment to replay the question in his head, Frank added: “They’re kinda wrapped up in this thing, so I don’t really wanna bother them.”

Or, he wanted to ask the person he thought was the easiest target.

Cas didn’t look at him. He kept his vision fixed on one of the junkers in Bobby’s front yard. While Frank seemed less accusative than he feared, the question was still a dangerous one. He tried to stay calm. “They’re soldiers. They’re programmed to follow orders, though some rebel. Like Sam said, they’re made out of energy. And they can enter certain human bodies, with permission, for use in our world. Kinda like possession, but longer and sometimes the human lives.”

“Only sometimes?”

He nodded. “Most of them don’t really care what happens to humans. If the vessel isn’t useful anymore, the angel leaves. They take advantage of the fact that most people think they’re innately kind, that they have only good intentions. It couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

Frank blinked in surprise. In discomfort, he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sounds cold.”

“It is.”

“Then why would one of them help Dean and Sam? If they don’t care about humans, why would they give them special abilities?”

Cas had to get creative. “Sometimes, they get enamored with human things. The comforts of free will and mortal life. I mean, who wouldn’t?” He paused for effect. “I’d take this life over being a heartless soldier any day.”

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain it. Why the Winchesters specifically? Did they save an angel or something? Was it like a reward?”

Cas silently noted that this man was very good at asking the right questions to avoid a vague response. “I think so. I think they helped one who envied their life. The angel gave the gifts out of gratitude and appreciation of the kindness they showed.”

“Huh.” Frank adjusted his position in the chair. “Dean made it seem like they fought angels, not helped them.”

Oh so careful, Cas tried to sound as human as possible. “The ones that still played for the home team hated the ones who rebelled, so there was a war.” He scoffed. “Most of them are dead or scattered to the wind now.”

“What was the angel’s name? The one who helped?”

Cas’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure he could hide his nervousness. “I’m not sure.”

Frank didn’t buy that, and he pressed further. He would get answers. “Oh, c’mon. You know this much about them and about what happened, but you don’t know the thing’s name? What, are you worried I might run into it and give it a hard time?”

Maybe. “I don’t think they would want me to tell you.”

“Why’s that?” What the hell was this guy hiding? Frank grew increasingly frustrated as the conversation went on, but he kept his cool.

“It’s a matter close to their hearts,” was all he replied.

Frank shook his head. “Bullshit.” He stood up and walked over to Cas, so that he could loom over him. “What’s the thing’s name?”

He’d had enough. Before Cas could really think it through, he gave the man exactly what he wanted. “Castiel.” Silently, he cursed himself. The damage this would cause could be substantial, and it would distract everyone from their goal of stopping the creature.

At least the look on Frank’s face was priceless. His eyes widened as far as they would go, and he backed up against the railing. “What?” he muttered, but it wasn’t really a question.

“Angels don’t give powers as gifts,” he clarified. Might as well explain it with the right details. “They have powers. To give them, the powers must be removed surgically. An angel without wings or healing is functionally a human.”

“With no soul.”

Cas tilted his head. “You don’t need a soul to sacrifice yourself for others. Though it helps.” He cleared his throat. What he said to this man would dictate how they moved forward. “You just—recognize a need, and you fulfill it.”

Visibly irritated, “And what did Castiel get in return for this sacrifice?”

Them. He got them. “I think you know.”

“Dean?”

Cas nodded. “And a life like theirs. Not as a warrior or even a hunter. But a life. A happy, mortal life.”

Frank paced away from him, rubbing at his forehead. He groaned. All this time, a creature had been living with them. Eating with them. Hell, even dating one of them. And Frank didn’t know. He sensed something was up, but he had no inclination in the slightest that Cas was anything but human. Eventually, he formed a response. “You were the job.”

Another nod, this one slow. “I needed help. They helped.”

“And whose body are you in?!”

“Mine,” Cas practically growled. “I was punished to live part of a human life. It started at conception. No soul belongs to this body.” Lowering his voice, “When they came to collect me, I refused. This act of rebellion was not well-received.”

Frank snorted. “You started a war.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed. “I made a lot of mistakes. Angels are not encouraged to think for themselves, so it’s not terribly easy once they have to.” When the hunter provided no response, he continued. “The Winchesters were there when it happened. They chose to help me. And they have since.”

The hunter look like he might lunge at him, but Cas knew he wouldn’t. The others were in earshot, and Dean would literally murder this man if he attacked him. This small comfort allowed him to continue. “There are many beings in this world, and most of them are horrifying. I was. At one time, I followed orders, and I did things I will never forgive myself for. Only in this world could I have a chance to do something else.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You weren’t told for fear of a strong negative reaction.”

Frank let out a dismissive laugh. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I pose no threat to you,” he tried to seem gentle, vulnerable in a limited way. “Or to anyone else here. If you respect the opinions of the others, then you should know that they trust me.” To an extent. “They have accepted me into their lives.”

“Bobby and Ellen know, too?”

He nodded once more. “It helped to know that I ripped off my wings and gave them to Dean Winchester.” He would be unapologetic on this point. “And that, by association, I consider them family.”

“Why give up the healing to Sam then? What was the point of that?”

“Sam is kind. I knew that he would share that kindness with others, and use the power to help people like he helped me.” Taking a chance, “And the two of them are a packaged deal. I could not love Dean without _befriending_ Sam. I also couldn’t be mortal with that power.”

Frank raised an eye at that. “But Sam died. It didn’t make him immortal.”

“It took effort for him to die.” Cas made no attempt to hide the emotion in his voice. The caring and the sadness. “His body heals itself. He had to actively prevent it from doing so.” The look he gave the hunter said that he had no intention of further discussing Sam’s suicide. It was a combination of anger and dismay.

Frank took an agonizingly long time before he spoke again. “So that sword is yours?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. It’s a friend’s—another angel who rebelled—but he gave it to me so that we could better defend ourselves. He also helped protect us throughout and after the war.”

“Why don’t you call him up now? Maybe he can kill that thing.”

Cas shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way.” A human would have to pray, and he knew that his humans would not want Bal involved if they could help it. He was too unpredictable, too disinterested in human survival. While Cas would’ve loved to see him, he would never give this man the necessary knowledge to bring Bal here. “I can’t call him. I don’t have the power.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

“Figures.”

“Look, I get that you’re unhappy. I get that you think I’m a creature, and that I don’t belong here. I can’t control what you think.” He stood and moved to the door. “But am I really what needs to be focused on right now? Do you _really_ think this is more important than that thing coming after my family?”

Family? How could something have family that wasn’t the same species? But then, how could that something date outside its species? And why would a human want that?

Maybe they did see something he didn’t. Tales of sacrifice fell on deaf ears. He knew it all too well. And Frank thought it might be self-serving, since the angel clearly had the hots for Dean. But could it be personality? He did seem helpful, almost overly so. Reserved but friendly. And of course affectionate towards the elder Winchester.

Now, Cas was on the defensive. He didn’t want this to become a problem. He wasn’t supposed to tell Frank anything, but he did anyway, and it could cause heavy tension between him and Dean. If he could at least calm Frank down, that would go a long way toward managing the situation. “My punishment didn’t feel like one,” he began. “I was intentionally given only human memories. I lived for 33 years thinking I was normal. I have a sister. Two nieces. Even before I died, I couldn’t go and see them. I imagine you know what that feels like.”

Frank glared at him a little but said nothing.

“When I regained my full memories, I felt the difference. Other angels were also supposed to be my family, but I don’t think they know what that is.” He leaned against the door. “I didn’t want the cold. I wanted to stay here. As I got to know Dean and Sam, I wanted my old existence even less.” He looked down at the worn wood of the porch. “I lived for millennia with nothing. Being able to feel and to care—that’s everything to me.”

Eventually, Frank spoke up. “How did you die?”

“I poisoned myself.”

The hunter didn’t believe it. “Why?”

“All the things I wanted seemed insignificant without them here. I knew that I would be able to join them in the Kingdom—in Heaven. I saw no reason to stay.” Cas was at peace with it. His only regret was that it upset Dean to know that he took his own life. Though Sam’s suicide bothered his brother even more, since it left the angel alone.

“Would you rather be there?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather be wherever they are.”

That didn’t seem healthy, but neither did the idea of a hunter being with something he should want to hunt.

“I miss our old life, though,” Cas continued. “Before we died, I mean. We had a house and more friends. Sam was doing what he loved. The both of them were very happy. Not afraid. They deserved to live that way for a long time. Longer than they got.”

“Do you think _you_ deserved that?”

He did. Not at the time, or for a while after, but he’d long since paid for his sins with love and devotion and trustworthiness. The Winchesters wouldn’t want him to wallow in self-pity, so he didn’t. “Not at first. It was such a blessing. I’ve only recently accepted that I earned it. That I improved their lives instead of just tagging along.” He stepped away from the door. “Not just by giving them parts of myself.”

Frank looked tired, as though the new information physically exhausted him. More likely? It was a combination of stress and near non-stop work, on which this revelation added more weight. “Did it hurt—to remove the energy?”

“More than a human nervous system could experience. I imagine it was somewhat akin to having several limbs removed without anesthesia. That I survived it at all was a miracle in and of itself.” He grimaced. “It caused them a great deal of pain to see, but thankfully none to receive.”

“I gotta tell you, I don’t understand why a thing like you would do any of that.”

“Because I’m not a monster.” He found himself on the verge of tears, but he held them back. Still, his voice cracked a little. “I have the ability to be one, but I chose a different path. What I gave up is nothing compared to what I received. And I gave them everything I had.” Cas opened the door and stepped inside. “Please don’t make this into a problem. We don’t have to be friends.” And they certainly wouldn’t be if this man continued to insist the angel wasn’t even a person. “But we can’t afford the distraction. You have your answers. Do with them what you will.”

With that, he left the hunter alone and sought out the Winchesters to tell them the bad news.

Frank stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Emotion came easy for Castiel, and that was unexpected. It didn’t read as fake or forced. Quite the opposite, he appeared to be holding back for the sake of appearances. It went against everything Frank knew and believed. Once he found out that angels weren’t benevolent, he assumed they were hardly better than demons and vampires. But it appeared that things were more complicated than that. He would need time to think it over.

Inside, Cas found Dean in the main room. He leaned in close to his ear and whispered that they needed to talk. Sam noticed the exchange but waited until they waved him over. The three moved into the empty kitchen.

In a quiet voice. “I screwed up,” Cas said bluntly. “Frank was fucking interrogating me, and I just—”

“You didn’t,” Dean cut in. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Sam touched his soulmate’s back. “What did you actually say to him?”

“He knows what angels are now, and he knows that I am one.” Cas sat down at the table and hung his head. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t take all the questions.”

Dean immediately relaxed. While it wasn’t necessarily good, he could work with this. “Oh. I thought you—maybe you’d mentioned—you know.” He thought Cas’d spilled the beans on their unique relationship, which would be a hell of lot more difficult to explain.

Sam took an even kinder approach, hugging their angel. “It’s okay, Cas. Things might be a little tense, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Yeah,” the older Winchester agreed.

At once, the scene reminded him of how lucky he was to have them. Even as he continued to make mistakes, they supported and loved him. And they probably always would. “He thinks I’m a monster. Or he’s afraid that I am. I can’t tell for sure.”

“You’re not a monster,” Sam assured him. “We’ll make sure he knows that.”

Dean bent down and kissed Cas softly. “He’s outnumbered.”

Careful not to reveal their other secret by being walked in on, Sam kept enough distance to only seem friendly. He let the other two have a few moments together. The angel needed some extra love, and Dean was happy to provide it. “I’ll get Bobby and Ellen on the same page,” Sam said, heading back for the main room. Their mentor wouldn’t be thrilled, but at least conversations would simplify. “It’ll be okay.”

Running a hand along Cas’s cheek, Dean looked into his eyes and got lost there. Every time his angel made a mistake, it brought back a fear that the Winchesters would lose faith in him. But even if Cas had revealed the other, more difficult secret, that wouldn’t be the case. He might be pissed, but he’d get over it. Quickly. And his love for him wouldn’t take a hit at all. “We’re in this together, remember? You and me.” And Sam, of course.

“Yeah.”

Dean gave another kiss, this time more deeply. “Then don’t worry, dude.”


	12. Heaven Beside You

Cas avoided Frank as much as possible. While he continued to prepare the meals that the man—and everyone else—ate, he made sure he never sat at the table with him. He rescinded his offer of bringing drinks and supplies when needed, not that Frank would be asking him for anything any time soon. And in general, he stayed away.

The others still had to work with him, though, and the tension could be cut with a knife. Dean would defend Cas against anything. He got the impression that the conversation between him and Frank was not only heated but degrading. That words were applied to his angel that didn’t belong and weren’t deserved. While he didn’t directly confront the man, Dean made it clear where his allegiances lay. It would always be Cas and Sam, above everyone else.

Sam took a more mediatory approach, but he too was prepared to defend Cas at any moment, without hesitation. He simply hoped that man would come around. It wasn’t rocket science. They loved Cas, and he was nothing but kind to everyone in the house. His origins didn’t matter. Hell, much of his history didn’t really mean anything. One look at him told the story. He was loving and deserving of love.

Bobby gruffly accepted the situation. He tried to ignore it whenever he could, and instead focused on the job at hand. If need be, he could confirm what Cas said factually and maybe defend him, too. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but the guy was still family. Ellen sided more clearly with the angel. They were partners in terms of the work they did in support of the others. If Frank wanted the free room and board, he should respect the people providing it—Cas included.

Quickly, Frank realized that at minimum Castiel had a strong hold on the others. They didn’t appreciate his concerns about having a creature live with them, and they didn’t think the angel qualified as one. Just as no one seemed to mind the Winchesters carrying around angel energy, they openly accepted the angel himself. In other words, his confrontation backfired. They no longer saw Frank as a good ally. He was causing problems. Sticking his nose into places it didn’t belong. He wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually asked him to leave, regardless of the status of the job.

But maybe the situation could be repaired. While he still believed strongly that Cas’s position here was detrimental, he didn’t really have a say in it. He could at least keep his mouth shut on the topic, and then hopefully mend the damage he caused. Frank didn’t really have anywhere to go if they kicked him out on his ass. If he wanted to stay, he had to be on his best behavior.

Which might mean coming to accept that the angel would be with them under the same roof—and possibly treating him like a human.

The thought sent a shiver through him as he sat with a heavy book in his lap. It just felt _wrong_. It bothered him that Castiel passed so easily and that so many humans were on board with his presence. It went against everything he knew as a hunter. You shoot things that aren’t human, not get in bed with them.

He tried to focus on reading, but his mind kept wandering back to the strange and uncomfortable situation. It was at least an hour before anyone spoke.

“You have it wrong,” said a voice from the corner.

When Frank looked up, the two were alone in the room, the others having taken breaks. “Oh yeah?”

Sam did not move his gaze from the computer screen. He didn’t have to. He already had the upper hand. “You’re sitting here, wondering how we could so easily be deceived by a monster. How my brother could love something like that. How on earth Bobby would let it in his house.” Referring to Cas as an “it” pained him, but he had to prove a point. “Never once considering that we let _you_ in, knowing much less.”

“What, you can read minds now, too?”

He shook his head. “No.” He could feel emotional turmoil emanating from the man, and he simply guessed based on the recent events. “But I’m not an idiot.”

Frank didn’t think he was. Misguided maybe. “I’m a human, though,” he pointed out.

“Does that make you trustworthy?” Sam laughed.

Well, no, but…

“Does that make you helpful?” He continued, in the same tone. Merciless. “Does that make you strong? Or is it your character? Your goals? The culmination of your life experiences?” Sam finally looked up from his work, but it was only to watch the man squirm a little. “There was a time you didn’t know about monsters, right? You had to change your worldview. Adapt. Why is it so difficult for you now? The world is scary, but it’s complicated, too. Experience should have taught you this already, but you’re getting a crash course now.”

Frank glared back at him. “You expect me to just trust him?”

Sam shrugged, turning back to his work. “He’s given you no reason not to. The only deception that took place was not telling you, and he did that because we asked him to do it. To prevent what’s occurring now.” He sighed. “But I think trust is too much to ask at this point. _Understanding_ would work.”

“Understanding what, exactly?”

“Well, for starters, that you upset someone we care about. You forced the information out of him and then beat him up over it, making sure no one was around to intervene. You bullied him.”

Frank snorted. “I think he can handle it.”

“He shouldn’t have to. It may come as a surprise, but he has just as many feelings as we do, if not more.” Sam gritted his teeth. The day had started so well. Now he felt emotionally exhausted, and everyone was walking on eggshells. “You took his kindness and ripped it to shreds. You should fucking apologize.”

He wanted to reply that he’d never apologize to a monster—but that wasn’t really what he thought. He could tell that Castiel wasn’t like the things he hunted. The problem was that he wasn’t like _anything_ Frank had experienced. As far as he was concerned, a creature could only pretend to be human, not actually succeed at it or even want to. This anomaly put him on the defensive, made him skittish and angry at the same time.

And he did have to admit that, like the others, Cas treated him compassionately. It could just be him going along with the group decision, or it could actually be benevolence. If that were the case, Sam’s description of the events wasn’t completely inaccurate. He came off ungrateful and possibly belligerent.

Slowly, he formed a better reply. “I can—I can make that happen,” he acquiesced. His pride would take a major hit in the process, but it could release some of the pressure. Though he wasn’t sure how much he could actually feel apologetic, he didn’t think it mattered.

Sam raised both eyebrows. “Good.”

***

Cas went to bed early that night and woke at around seven. He got up immediately. Though Sam offered a repeat of their shower session, he declined. He honestly didn’t feel like it—a rarity even when ill. Though the extra contact would have been nice, Cas also wanted to get an early start helping Ellen put back some of the discarded books. He wanted to get it done before bumping into Frank.

So, he showered alone. Quickly. Taking a small moment to enjoy the hot water on the tense muscles of his back and neck. The box fogged up around him.

He shut off the water, let out a sigh, and opened the door.

And he froze.

Mere inches from him stood a black figure. Hair down to the floor with something like a tattered nightgown beneath. Room darkening around it. Skin a dull gray. His breathing quickened, and his eyes widened until they were almost perfectly round. His whole body trembled. The creature stood between him and the turmeric on the sink. He didn’t think he could reach it even if he lunged.

He couldn’t make himself back up, either. He couldn’t move except to shake. Beyond horrified, he managed to utter a single word. “Please.” Please, don’t kill me.

This thing took energy. If it took all of his, he would die—cease to exist. He would never see Dean or Sam again. He would never touch them or tell them he loved them. He would simply be gone.

The monster’s right hand appeared from its side and moved in a jerking motion. Tarnished bells rang as she did so, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. As he stood immobile, the hand reached and touched his face. He closed his eyes and, with a sob, waited for his demise.

But nothing happened.

Cas forced one eye open. Then the other. The creature was still there, but hadn’t taken anything. It leaned in terribly close. He smelled metal, could almost taste it. And he heard a low clicking sound emanating from its throat. The head lifted a little. He got the distinct impression that it was _smelling_ him. Two gray fingers dragged across his cheek. He pursed his lips. If it was going to kill him, why wouldn’t this thing just get it over with already?

He saw the barest hint of a jawline beneath the hair. The cat-like scream it uttered broke the mirror behind it. Cas cowered in fear and pain. When he looked up again, the creature was gone.

“Fuck,” he breathed, tears running down his face. “Fuck. Oh God.”

The sudden deafening noise alerted the Winchesters—and the rest of the house. The two kicked the door open, which he’d locked for privacy. They found him still trembling and sitting in a ball on the shower floor. “Cas?!” said the two almost simultaneously.

They rushed over to him, careful to avoid the shattered glass. Sam threw a towel over him and Dean held him close. The brothers didn’t have to ask what happened. Nothing else on earth sounded like that. The áglæcwíf or kara ruh or whatever got past their defenses and attacked the one person within its parameters that wasn’t covered in yellow powder. It specifically waited until he was alone and clean.

Bobby appeared in the hallway behind them, but Sam waved him off. The last thing Cas needed was an audience to see how scared he was.

It took a few minutes before Cas said anything. “I-I don’t think it wants me.”

Dean hugged him tighter. Sam breathed a small sigh of relief. If their angel was off the menu, he wouldn’t have to worry as much.

But the close call didn’t make either of them feel good. Gradually, they helped Cas to his feet. Sam laid another towel down over the glass so none of them would cut themselves, and the two walked him back to their room.

It was another hour before Cas felt steady enough to get dressed and head downstairs. It was to sympathetic but fearful looks. They all knew why he dodged the bullet. You couldn’t take soul energy from something that didn’t have a soul. More than ever, he felt different from them. As a result, he couldn’t muster the strength to help with anything quite yet. Instead, he took a seat in the sun room and looked out at the back yard.

Dean brought him a plate of breakfast and refused to leave until he ate some of it. He obliged, though he wasn’t hungry. A gentle kiss came as a reward. He didn’t really want Dean to go, but he knew they had work to do, more now than ever. There would be a mad dash to get more turmeric, to apply it to the walls, to try and fortify the house. While he would be safe regardless, the Winchesters were still in trouble. And he knew the creature would be back for them.

It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that he finally emerged from his hiding spot. In the main room, he found only Sam, covered in yellow and wearily searching on the computer. Silently, Cas picked up a book from one of the piles and put it back on the shelf. The library was loosely organized by type of book. He could emulate it easily enough.

“Hey, Cas,” came from the corner.

He turned and provided a weak smile. “Hey, Sam.”

“You don’t have to do that,” the man said quietly. “We made the mess. And it’s okay to just take some time for yourself. Seriously.” It must’ve been absolutely terrifying to be alone with that thing, thinking it planned to kill him. Sam didn’t even want to imagine it.

“Is everybody gone?”

“Dean’s outside. He couldn’t stand being stuck in the house any longer. And going to a grocery store covered in yellow dust probably wouldn’t be a great idea.” He set the computer aside and motioned for Cas to join him. “You deserve a break, you know.”

The angel knew he was right. He felt horrible. Like he’d run a marathon being chased by rabid dogs. Any attempt to help around the house would be weak and fruitless. He crossed the room and sat down next to Sam. He leaned his head on the man before closing his eyes. Sam kissed the top of his head. He put his arm around him, holding the angel close. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He nodded. He knew the Winchesters needed him—and he liked being alive, either in the real sense or in the Kingdom. But he would need time to get over such a fright. He almost lost everything.

Dean came back inside after about fifteen minutes. He was happy to see Cas up and moving—or at least not isolating himself in the back of the house. With a sympathetic smile, he joined the other two, on Cas’s free side. Dean lifted the angel’s head to give him a proper kiss. Both smiled a little bigger.

They stayed like that for the better part of an hour, until Bobby came home with more supplies. It hadn’t even occurred to any of them that they might be walked-in on. Thankfully, it was a friendly face. Sam kissed Cas’s cheek before getting up—a clear sign that he expected his companions to keep enjoying themselves. “Lemme help you with that,” he told Bobby. The two left the room.

Dean pressed his forehead against Cas’s and rested one hand on his chest. “Wanna go upstairs?” he asked in a low voice. “Think you could use some TLC.”

Eventually, Cas nodded. He thought some one-on-one time with Dean might help substantially. The sort of slower, deliberate way that Dean moved with him would be almost therapeutic.

The couple went up to their shared room, locked the door, and fell into bed. At first, they just made out for a long time, laying on their sides. Tasting each other. Soothing the damage done. Dean knew how to heal, too, even without an extra ability. And he could do it for _hours_.

He ran his hands over the angel, touching every part of him but leaving cloth intact. He never once stopped kissing him. It took a little willpower not to escalate things too quickly, but he knew what Cas needed. So, he moved onto the next step, to feel him beneath his clothes without removing them. Only when his angel’s face flushed and his eyes unfocused did he start taking things off. First his own shirt. Then Cas’s. More kissing for a while. Soft but firm caresses. He reached into his companion’s boxers and slid them down along with his jeans. With one hand, Dean slipped two fingers into his own mouth before sliding them into Cas. With the other, he got to work pleasuring him with an expert efficiency.

Dean could have easily brought his angel to climax just like this. He would have been happy to do so. But Cas had other ideas. He tugged on Dean’s pants, and, past labored breathing, he whispered, “Take these off.”

Yes, sir. He had to disconnect to do it, but he made quick work of their clothes—his first, then what remained of Cas’s. He moved back toward him, kissing and touching a path up his leg, across his stomach and chest, to his neck. When he reached the angel’s ear, “What do you want?”

“Get on your stomach.”

Absolutely. Dean was easily turned on enough to go either way with amazing results, but if Cas wanted to fuck him, then he would get his wish. He did as he was told and let the angel take over.

Cas took a moment to get ready before climbing between his legs. He pulled him up and onto him in one fluid motion. Dean couldn’t help but gasp. No matter how many times it happened, or how much lubrication utilized, he was never really prepared. He made an involuntary grunt, which resulted in Cas changing position slightly, choosing instead to lean over him until his chest touched Dean’s back. “Relax,” he instructed in a tone that instantly calmed him.

This wasn’t Sam. He had no intention of being rough or even causing discomfort if he could help it. Dean had put so much effort into making him feel better, he wouldn’t take that for granted.

Slow and gentle, Cas pushed forward and withdrew. Eventually, he increased the speed, but not the depth or strength. From this angle, he couldn’t really watch Dean get closer, but he _could_ feel it. In the tightening of his muscles sure, but also the arching of his back. The little moans he couldn’t keep to himself. The way he gripped the pillow. Cas had to pace himself to avoid finishing early. He wanted it so badly.

Almost as badly as he needed to see Dean get off first.

Which meant he had to be patient. It took a few minutes to get him closer. A few well-placed kisses along the back of his neck. A firm grip on his shoulders. Careful. Considerate.

And there it was. “Oh God. Cas. Oh—Oh fuck!”

As the man relaxed beneath him, he needed only a little more. The right rhythm. The complete warmth. Dean moaned a little louder, mostly likely for his benefit. When he felt his abdomen start to tighten, the room spun.

And he came, in total ecstasy. He gripped Dean tightly for a few moments before releasing him. Spent, Cas collapsed to his lover’s side and was met with a satisfied grin. He reached and touched Dean’s face. Out of breath, “Thank you.”

Dean laughed. As though he didn’t get everything he needed, too. As though Cas didn’t make absolutely sure of that.

They lay together for a little while before cleaning up. The sheets fell victim to poor planning, but Dean offered to do the laundry. After all, _he_ made the mess, and it was the least he could do, since Cas had been taking care of everyone all week. He only waited long enough to see his angel get dressed, before tending to himself and the bedding. In a basket, he added some of their clothes to make it seem slightly less obvious.

But he didn’t really care. Everyone already knew the two of them were together, and he didn’t particularly like Frank anymore, given his poor treatment of Cas. To be honest, he was even growing tired of hiding his relationship with Sam. Was this guy really worth sacrificing the openness all three of them loved? He wasn’t really into PDA, but simple shit like holding hands or a kiss now and then? He hated having to think every time he did it and especially avoiding that stuff entirely with his soulmate. He imagined Cas didn’t like it, either, having to pretend he and Sam were just good friends.

Friends that shared the same room, hung out all the time, and hugged whenever anything bad happened.

He had to smile at that. They couldn’t hide it well at all. In another life, this might have upset him, but he felt so much better now, thanks to Sam’s intervention. And, of course, he just got laid.

Downstairs, a large mug of green tea helped Cas recover even more. He took the day off from working around the house—nobody blamed him—and resolved to help with the books in the morning.


	13. I Walk the Line

Cas took a lazier approach to the task than normal, but it got done. After just an hour or so, most of the books were back on the shelves. He began rearranging them to make sure the types matched. When he moved to switch to a different chore, he noticed some red plastic sticking out from behind a book he never touched. He reached behind and grabbed it.

Vodka. A smallish plastic bottle of vodka. Before anyone in the room could see, he slipped it into his pocket and headed for the kitchen.

He found Ellen reading the morning paper and nursing a cup of coffee. “I don’t know if this is a problem, but—”

She didn’t look up. “What’s wrong?”

Cas produced the bottle and shook it so that she could hear the liquid sloshing around. That got her attention. When she saw what it was, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Where’d you get that?” she asked in an incredibly worried voice.

“Bookshelf. It was behind a big dusty dictionary.” He brought the item closer for inspection. “The seal’s not broken.”

Though her eyes showed a little less panic, she still didn’t feel better. “This can’t be starting again,” she said mostly for her own benefit. “All these hunters here—”

But Cas shook his head. “I haven’t seen Bobby drink or look drunk at all. And the way this thing was hidden, he could have just forgot it was there.” He really hoped that the old man hadn’t broken his sobriety. He was doing so well—and so proud of it. A relapse could be devastating, on both him _and_ his wife.

And they certainly didn’t need yet another distracting problem to tackle.

“Dump it out,” she instructed. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

He moved to the sink and opened the bottle. With the week he was having, he didn’t think taking a sip would be that bad of an idea.

Wrong.

It tasted awful. Low-grade, bitter, and painful as it traveled down his throat. He grimaced and poured the rest down the drain. “Why vodka?” he asked when he was done. Coughing, “He never seemed like he would drink this stuff.”

“Vodka’s cheap,” she returned bluntly. “When all you care about is getting wasted, you don’t give a shit about quality.” She looked miserable, possibly a little heartbroken.

Cas went over to her and sat down. “It must’ve been hard.”

El nodded. “He was already bad, but when you guys died—it just kept getting worse. It was 24/7 by the time I made him get treatment.” She picked up her coffee but didn’t drink it. “We almost didn’t make it through, you know? The two of us.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” the angel tried to sound reassuring. “Try not to worry too much. Even if it is a relapse, which I don’t think it is, he can still get back on the wagon.”

“He hasn’t been to any meetings since you guys got here,” she pointed out.

Cas patted her arm. “They’ve been really busy. And if he was drinking that stuff, you’d smell it on him.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She could smell it on the angel, who only took a small swig. And they weren’t even sitting that close. “I just don’t wanna go through this again.”

“If you have to, you won’t be alone this time. We’d help in any way we could.” He really meant that. Ellen had been so accommodating to him. While he definitely took a lot of the work load off of her, it was more than that. It didn’t seem like she had many friends outside of the occasional hunter. Cas was a person she could talk to, be it heavy stuff like alcoholism or lighter topics like recipes and gossip. If they stayed here long enough, he might even become a real friend to her.

That train of thought gave him an idea about the job. Cas filed it away for later. He would wait with Ellen until Bobby came back from a supply run and then let them discuss it in private.

***

He wandered into the research room and stood in front of the board full of information. It was a rarity for Cas to show up when the room was full, so it immediately became curious to the Winchesters. Bobby had joined them only minutes before, having reassured his wife that he was not, in fact, drinking again. He promised to go to a meeting tomorrow, just to make sure he wasn’t tempted. His general appearance of sobriety convinced her the most.

The angel didn’t acknowledge anyone in the room at first. He simply pondered their timeline and notes. When his thoughts were thoroughly organized, he finally spoke, addressing everyone at once. “What if we could make human energy look like angel energy?”

“Huh?” came from Bobby.

“That thing didn’t understand that my energy was different until it was right fucking next to me. But once it realized, it got angry and left.” Cas kept his vison trained on the notes, many of which were written in Dean’s handwriting. “It probably has no idea why you guys’ energy is brighter, but it won’t want the angel part of it. What if we could make the rest _look_ like angel power? Then the thing wouldn’t want you anymore and might move on entirely.”

It wouldn’t solve the problem for others—the monster would still be killing people in very small amounts across time—but it would save the Winchesters, which was all Cas really cared about.

As the group thought it over, Sam came through with a quick response. “How do we do that?”

“I’m not sure. But I think we know someone who might.”

“Your angel buddy?” came from Frank. It took the brothers a moment to realize that he meant Balthazar. A remnant of that terrible conversation.

Cas glared at him. “No. We have another friend. A powerful, non-demonic witch.” And half archangel. She didn’t have to make a deal with a demon to have energy for her spells. She _was_ energy. “Rosa. She lived with us for a while in Philly. If anyone would know how to shield from this thing, it would be her.”

Dean wanted to say that they didn’t have her number and thus the idea might not be so sound, but instead he looked over at his soulmate. “Think you could find her?”

After a moment, Sam nodded. If he had to, he would ask for help from his new pals on the dark web.

“Can we trust her?” Frank asked with a hint of trepidation. Now they wanted to hang out with witches? Who were these people?

The angel tried not to get frustrated. “I wouldn’t recommend her otherwise. She helped us through a ton of dangerous and tough situations.” Up to and including Cas’s death. “I’m sure she would be happy to see us, too.” Rosa still thought her friends were dead. Wherever she was, she had no idea they’d returned or else she would be here already.

Unless of course something happened to her. But Cas couldn’t entertain the idea.

“And she’s got a kickass weapon,” Dean pointed out. “A fucking sword that heats up. Slices through demons like no big deal.” She wasn’t a bad fighter in general, last time they saw her.

The decision was really only up to Bobby, who would likely have to keep Rosa in his house. No one particularly cared for Frank’s input at this point. It took a few moments, but eventually the old man made his decision. “If you can find her, do it.”

Sam didn’t have to be told twice. He immediately got to work trying to find their friend. Cas smiled. He hardly contributed to the job or to their general protection. But he could bring someone in with extra skills. And anyway, he missed her. Rosa looked to him as a mentor, mostly in things related to being an angel. She couldn’t ask her father—“who art in Heaven,” as she would say—but she could ask Cas. He helped her tap into those abilities and use them with efficiency. He also taught her Enochian, so that she could speak to other angels in their earthly tongue should the situation present itself.

“Good idea, Cas,” came from Dean, which earned him a big smile from the angel.

Frank kept quiet. He didn’t like this plan at all. He already felt increasingly distant from the others, and now they wanted to bring in a potentially dangerous person with unnatural skills. Were they really that desperate?

Or was he overreacting? The attack showed a side of Castiel that Frank hadn’t seen before. Unabated fear. And the response was very human, at least on the outside. He shut down. Didn’t or couldn’t interact with the others very much. Needed time to recover. Even with the knowledge that he would no longer be a target, Cas didn’t return to his “normal” self for more than a day. Hell, he still seemed shaken. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe creatures were complicated, existing on a spectrum of evil to good. Maybe Cas sat toward the good side.

And the same could be true of this woman. Even Bobby didn’t seem particularly concerned about her, despite the promises of her abilities. He would just have to wait and see. They might not even find her. Ten years was a long time in a world full of monsters.

Cas gave a subtler smile to Sam, a silent thank you for supporting his idea. With nothing further to add, the angel drifted out of the room and left them to their work.

The younger Winchester felt the weight of this task fall squarely on his shoulders, but he could use a change of pace. The stories and manuscripts in the digital archive were starting to run together. He felt fatigued in a way his healing couldn’t fix. So, he switched to a simple internet search. “Rosa Álvarez del Campo.” It’d taken them more than a year to learn her full name, as she guarded it like one might protect a child. Though Sam and his companions forgot a lot of things in Heaven, he couldn’t forget that.

There was only one relevant search result. Their combined obituary. She was listed as a close friend and arbiter of their affairs. All the other returns were people with similar names but the wrong ages and lives.

He sighed. Though he knew Rosa would be careful not to leave a trail, he’d hoped to find _something_. And admittedly, he was a little nervous about asking a bunch of anonymous hunters for her information. If she was alive, that could make her into a target. She may have been powerful, but she wasn’t bulletproof. She couldn’t heal herself. Sam didn’t want to put her in danger.

But he could be creative. He went in and directly messaged his helpful friend hntr, instead of posting for everyone to see. “I’m trying to find an ex-girlfriend,” He lied. “Think you could help me out?”

“Why do u want to find her?”

“Nostalgia.” Then, he added: “We parted on good terms. I’m just wondering what she’s up to.”

“Relationships are bad for hunters,” was all his friend typed at first. It was at least a minute before another message came through. “What’s her name?” When he provided it, “Come back in an hour.”

Sam returned to his research for the requested time, keeping an eye on the clock. He tried not to seem too desperate when he returned. “Got anything for me?”

“Of course. She lives in a condo in Austin.” hntr provided the address and her listed phone number. After a moment, he provided an unlisted cellphone number. “She has no children or spouse. No family. No job information. Is she a hunter? I haven’t heard of her.”

“No, just very private. Thank you.”

But hntr wasn’t done. “U should mask your IP address. Get a VPN. I can’t be certain who u are, but I know exactly _where_ u are, which is dangerous.”

“I’m fairly new to this,” he admitted. The others considered him to be a computer whiz, but honestly? He just knew a hair more than the basics.

“Look into it,” hntr instructed. “Though I don’t know why anyone would want to go to Sioux Falls.”

Sam laughed to himself. It wasn’t exactly the most happening place in the country. Bobby and Ellen liked it, obviously. But he much preferred a city with more things to do and an endless supply of new people to meet. He liked the country, too, but it wasn’t the same. There was a reason they settled in Philadelphia, because at minimum he and Cas loved what the city provided. (And Dean could tolerate it.)

He signed off and picked up one of the cellphones they got on the way to Bobby’s. The movement got the attention of the others, who watched him but said nothing. He typed in the unlisted number and listed to it ring.

“Who the hell is this?” came across the line. He had no doubt about the identity of the speaker.

“Don’t hang up,” he said carefully. “A friend.”

Silence. Then, “Who is this?”

“Sam. Sam Winchester.”

She hung up.

He let out a sigh. “Getting a call from a ghost can be tricky,” he said to the group. Sam didn’t wait long before calling again. When Rosa picked up, “I know you don’t believe me. I get it. But just hear me out for a second.” She didn’t reply, so he continued. “We got brought back. All three of us. We don’t know how. We don’t know why. But we’re here. We’re staying with Bobby in South Dakota.”

“You’re lying,” was all she said.

He gulped and adjusted his hold on the phone. “Look, I know it’s weird. But we’re weird, right? Like our living situation from before. Like the angel sword you found under the false bottom of the left-hand drawer in my desk.” Sam was pretty proud of himself for that one. He hardly remembered his daily routine, but somehow the entire set up of his healing room felt like last week. They kept the sword within reach on the ground level after beginning to trust Rosa.

“The sword you gave to Bobby. Along with my watch, Dean’s necklace—”

She cut him off before he could continue. “Anyone could find that out. Maybe you just tortured the old guy.”

He took a chance. “Would anyone know who your father is?”

More silence as it seemed he got through to her. They didn’t tell anyone about that. Not even Bobby. Eventually, she returned with a quiet voice. “It can’t be you. I buried you.”

“I know,” he said sympathetically. He couldn’t feel her pain at this distance, but he heard it. “We’re just as surprised as you are. But listen, we are not okay. Something picked up on us returning or just _noticed_ us. It’s trying to kill me and Dean. It scared the shit out of Cas, but he’s safe. We could use your help. We have some very remedial protections but we are not strong enough to fight this thing. Do you still have that book? The big one with all the highlighting?”

“Yeah.”

“I think we’re gonna need your expertise. Can you come here?” She should be able to fly it, since unlike Dean she could see where she was going.

The sudden requests threw Rosa off-guard and reignited some of her suspicions. “Put Cas on,” she ordered. A creature could masquerade as Sam, and she might not pick up on the subtle differences over the phone. But she would know _him_.

Sam told her to hold on for a moment before calling out for their angel. Cas appeared in the doorway with confusion. He pointed the phone at him. “Talk to Rosa.”

Part of him thought they’d never find her. But Sam did, in under two hours. Cas couldn’t believe it. She was his closest friend outside the Winchesters. It would be difficult not to get emotional. He took the phone carefully and brought it up to his ear. “Rosa?”

“Prove to me it’s you.”

He blinked. “Uh, I don’t—” But then he had it. “What did you do with the rest of the holy oil?” It wasn’t among the things given to Bobby, and though she’d used some of it to summon Bal, there was still about a quarter left, sitting in the basement near Dean’s work station. While she was part angel, her humanness protected her from its effects.

“It’s in a water bottle under my sink.”

Cas burst out laughing. Of course it was. “Next to the Windex? I’m not sure that’s the best place to keep it.”

While the information was certainly specific, the laugh was what convinced her. No creature could fake that. She imagined his face perfectly and knew, without a doubt, that she was speaking to Castiel. “I watched you die.”

“You _helped_ ,” he corrected. But it seemed a little cruel. “And I’m grateful.”

“What was Heaven like?”

“Beautiful.” As she pondered it, he added: “Will you come to see us? We could use your help.”

He heard rummaging. Then, “Gimme some time to pack. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Cas had to hold back tears, and he did so only to appear strong in front of the others. But he was overcome with emotion. Maybe this was how the Winchesters felt at seeing Bobby again. A piece of his life that he missed in the Kingdom would return, and he couldn’t be happier. “Stay safe, Rosa. We’ll see you soon.”

When he hung up, the angel became incredibly aware that everyone was watching him. He didn’t like it very much. But he put on a brave face. Handing back the phone, “We need to make a space for her.” A room to sleep, a place to work—and a good landing spot. She’d probably pick outside, so he motioned toward Bobby. “Think you could move some of the cars out front? Landing strip.”

The old man nodded and headed for the door.

Frank couldn’t hold back any longer. “She’s an angel too, isn’t she?” Not a whole lot of friendly things could fly on their own volition.

Cas straightened his back. “Partly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s none of your business,” Dean supplied. He stood and put his arm around Cas. If the hunter wanted information, he could ask someone else. He wouldn’t be allowed to pester their angel for it. The two left the room to prepare.

Though Sam didn’t particularly enjoy Frank’s company, either, he made no move to join them. From behind his laptop—a sort of social shield—he pursed his lips. “You need to work on your interpersonal skills.” When the man said nothing, “Did you not see how happy he was? Rosa’s like a sister to him.”

“I’m trying to keep us safe.”

“You’re looking for danger in the wrong places,” Sam countered. “You know, there _are_ pockets of light in the world. Good things. Good people. Just because you don’t understand them doesn’t mean they are bad or wrong.”

Frank leaned back in his chair. “I’m trying to understand.”

“Try harder. And apologize to Cas.” He didn’t wait for a response before putting on some headphones and turning back to his research. The man would be ignored until he fell in line.


	14. Bat Out of Hell

Her arrival did not go as anyone expected. While Dean heard the wing beats first, everyone else heard “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” called out above the house in an arch. The noise ended in a big thud in the front yard. By the time they got through the doorway, the group found Rosa dusting herself off—thankfully intact. There was some grass in her curly hair and dirt on her cheek.

“Rosa!” Cas yelled, hurrying down the steps toward her.

Her expression changed to pure joy. They hugged for a really long time before letting go. The Winchesters came to greet her as well. She grinned at them. There were crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, and she looked just a little worse for the wear. But not much else had changed. Her hair and style of clothing were nearly identical.

When Rosa turned to Sam, she immediately noticed the yellow powder on his face. “What is this?” She took some of it from his cheek and sniffed it. “Turmeric?” She had a mental encyclopedia of herbs and spices. This one wasn’t terribly difficult to recognize.

The healer felt bashful. “The thing that’s after us hates it.”

“It’s good to see you.” She hugged him, too, careful not to accidentally rub off any more of the protection. Dean received the same treatment. She stepped back from the three of them and took stock. “I wouldn’t believe it if you weren’t standing in front of me. I mean, fuck.”

There was a lot to take in. Both of the Winchesters were covered in the Indian spice but Cas wasn’t, meaning that they knew he would be safe without it. Bobby had a little on his face, though it seemed like a mild precaution. Ellen wore none of it, and neither did an older man she didn’t recognize, who kept toward the back of the group.

But first things first. Rosa waved at Bobby. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and she wasn’t even sure he remembered seeing her. He was so trashed, he could barely walk. But he looked fine now, if not a bit tired. Now for the stranger. She stuck out her hand for him to shake it. “Hi there. I’m Rosa.”

The man only stared at her hand. He didn’t move to return the gesture, nor did he say anything at all. Rude, she thought.

Bobby didn’t appreciate a lady being treated disrespectfully, even one as blunt and independent as Rosa. “That’s Frank. He’s a little new to the angel thing. Doesn’t quite get it yet.”

A hunter. Fantastic. She still didn’t love the community—violent and paranoid as it often was—even though she met a few good ones. Sam and Dean were retired hunters, and Bobby seemed nice enough. But there were many among them that she would avoid entirely or come to blows with.

She lowered her hand slowly and instead placed it on Cas’s shoulder. If this man needed to get caught up, she had no problem helping him along. “I have four sets of wings because an archangel who I’ve never met knocked up my mother. I can fly and move shit with my head, but that’s about it. I also do magic and could probably kick your ass in like five different ways without using any special powers.” She smiled viciously. “You’re right to be afraid of me, but if I were here to hurt you, you’d already be dead.”

Damn! None of the trio expected such a direct speech, even from someone who always cut to the chase. Dean found the outburst very amusing, and he made no attempt to hide his enjoyment. Sam wasn’t so sure it would be helpful, while Cas had to cover his mouth to prevent laughing.

Frank looked petrified.

“Well, come on inside,” Bobby intervened. He didn’t know about the archangel thing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Their monster problem was more important. “We’ve got a lot to tell you about.”

She grabbed her bag—an old backpack—and started toward the house. The others followed in her wake. Once inside, she scanned the scene. For the most part, the place just looked like an old farmhouse. Big enough to hold half a dozen guests easily. Small enough to still feel humble. Obviously, the piles of twisted metal and rusted car parts outside were more than just the work of a mechanic. It fortified the property, with walls like a backwoods castle.

The house was surprisingly clean and well-organized. Well, until she got to the room where they were doing research. Papers and books were strewn everywhere. Empty cans of soda. Neglected coffee mugs. And a dry-erase board stood solitary in the center of it all. She skimmed the info. A list of names in different languages. A loose description. A timeline of incidents dating back thousands of years. And a corner full of observations and questions they hoped to answer. They didn’t know how to kill it or stop it. They only somewhat understood its motivations. And they were all very frightened.

Rosa sat her bag down. “Can I get you anything, hon?” asked the only other woman in the house.

She smiled. Hospitality was something she’d come to appreciate greatly. “Yeah, uh, something to drink maybe? It was a long flight.” Just a few seconds of real time, but it felt more like an hour, and it required a significant amount of exertion. She had to think about every move and try to keep up with the scenery speeding by beneath her. The rough landing was a product of putting the brakes on too late. She only somewhat understood where they were located, but once she sensed the angel energy, she knew she’d found the right place.

Ellen nodded and left. A minute or so later, she returned with a tall glass of lemonade. “We don’t keep alcohol in the house, so I hope this’ll work for you.”

Oh? Had the old man really quit drinking? It would explain why he was still alive. Ten years was a long time to drown your liver and still survive, especially at his age. “This is fine, thanks,” she accepted the drink and took a sip. Sweet but not overly so. Just the right amount of ice. Ellen had lemonade down to a science.

As the others filed into the room around her, she tried not to focus on her resurrected friends. They had so much to talk about. She wanted to hear about Heaven. They wanted to know about her life for the past decade. But it would have to wait. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

***

It took more than two hours to fill her in on it all, starting with the boys’ unexplained return and ending with the plan: they wanted to know if Rosa could make Sam and Dean’s energy look like they were angels, instead of just carrying around angel parts. Since their horror movie monster didn’t seem to like that type of power, it might finally leave them alone. If not, they hoped she could help them find a way to kill it.

She wasn’t sure she could accomplish either. By far, Rosa wasn’t an expert on creature killing—mostly just demons—and she couldn’t pull angel energy out of thin air. It would take some substantial research on her own to accomplish either one.

For now, however, she had some advice for the Winchesters. In addition to constantly having turmeric on their skin, “If that thing comes back, you can try to wrap yourself in the energy you already have.” For Dean, that would mean actually cocooning himself with his wings (though she also suggested that flying was still a good form of temporary escape). But Sam would be more difficult. His power was weaker, and it resided deep within him. She could only instruct him to bring it to the forefront, to send the power just beneath his skin and hope that the creature couldn’t see past it.

Both plans had serious flaws. Though she couldn’t see energy signatures at the same level as full angels, she knew from conversations with Cas that souls were incredibly bright. So were angels, but the brothers still “looked” very much human. It might be like trying to hide a flashlight under a sheet. You would still see the light coming through.

They went through a test, with Cas helping judge—using his inner sight for the first time since their resurrection. He’d never even thought to use it on the monster, and silently kicked himself for the lost opportunity at new information. But at least he could help protect the people he loved. He watched as Dean went first.

Moving his wings took careful precision. Too much effort, and he’d end up somewhere else. Two little, and they wouldn’t budge. Slowly, he wrapped them around himself, trying to cover as much of his body as possible.

“Bring it in tighter,” Cas instructed. He could still see the warm soul energy shining out in patches.

Dean pulled them in. It felt like a strange full-body hug. He thought it might get suffocating, but the energy didn’t impair his body in any way. He took a deep breath just to make sure. “How’s that?”

The angel looked him up and down. “I think it might work.” He could make out tinges of the warmth at the edges of his wings, but the energy was completely contained by them. But at the moment, it took way too much time. Dean would have to either keep them like this—which wasn’t even remotely comfortable—or he would have to learn to do it much quicker. “You’re gonna have to practice this,” Cas warned. “It has to be fast.”

Though the prospect didn’t thrill him, Dean nodded in understanding. He would repeat the process over and over until it took only seconds to accomplish.

Sam, on the other hand, proved much more difficult. Though Rosa instructed him to bring his healing energy to the surface of his skin, he could not do so without weak patches, and moreover, he couldn’t sustain it for longer than thirty seconds or so. Trying exhausted him. After three attempts, the younger Winchester felt dizzy and stumbled over to a chair. His shoulders heaved, and his head sagged. He took at least a minute before looking up at the rest of them. With a sad expression, he shook his head.

Both Dean and Cas wanted to comfort him, but they held back. They couldn’t afford the time and resulting drama it would take to explain their actions. The monster might be back at any moment.

Rosa simply figured they were too distracted to notice Sam’s distress. So, she picked up the slack and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll find another way.” It would have been nice if this fix could work, but she wasn’t terribly surprised that it didn’t. Sam had the least amount of angel energy among them—pardoning their three completely human comrades—and while he knew how to handle it well, that wouldn’t replace sheer power.

On top of that, he was the only person among them who could temporarily give his energy to others. No one here could recharge him. He was on his own.

Sam seemed more disappointed than afraid. Being able to protect himself would take the worry away from his companions. He didn’t want them to fear for his safety. He didn’t want to cause that kind of emotional strife. But right now he couldn’t even defend against a strong-willed rabbit. He’d drained almost all his useable energy during the exercise. Even sitting upright was a challenge. He could barely keep his eyes open.

As he started to wobble in the chair, Rosa took hold of him. She motioned for Dean to come collect his soulmate. “I think he’s done for the day.”

The older Winchester did as he was told. He reached down and effortlessly helped Sam to his feet. With a little help from Rosa, they walked him to the stairs where Dean and the bannister could handle the rest. The two disappeared upstairs. Cas looked on with concern written all over his face. It’d been a long time since he had to watch Sam get sick from using too much energy. He was so much more careful towards the end of his first life. And of course they never had to worry about it in the Kingdom.

“He could kill himself trying if he’s not careful,” Cas said, disheartened. Since Sam couldn’t see his own energy, he could accidentally tap into his soul and use it up—an unfortunate side effect of giving a human some power he shouldn’t technically have. He knew his limits, so it hadn’t been a problem since the early days of healing, but still. The angel worried he might do serious damage.

And now he could be bedbound for days.

Rosa paced over to her mentor and rested her hand on his chest, next to the collarbone. “He’s careful.”

Deep down, Cas knew she was right. He’d seen Sam cut his energy off right before it would run out. He said that he could _feel_ how much he had left. Sure, he routinely overworked himself—and Cas hated seeing him so exhausted and sick. But he avoided danger. Recklessness wasn’t a major character trait of Sam’s. He simply wanted to help as much as possible.

He nodded. “Think you can come up with something?”

Rosa wasn’t certain, but she’d definitely try. “Yeah, of course.”

A sifting of papers reminded the two that they weren’t alone. While Ellen had disappeared somewhere into the house, Bobby and Frank remained. The latter turned back to research, finding the discussion difficult to follow and uncomfortable in nature. The former, however, simply sat there, staring into his own glass of lemonade. She chose the friendlier one to address. “I’m going to need some time. Do you have any books on witchcraft?”

Bobby chuckled. “At least three shelves-worth.” He gestured with his thumb to a general area behind him. “How many languages do you speak?”

***

As it turned out, Rosa had a few things to contribute. First of all, she suggested that the creature might be someone or something’s pet—essentially a monstrous cat in a humanlike body—or that it had been at one time. She didn’t think the jewelry and bells were accidental. She agreed with Dean’s guess that they were meant to be restrictive, and to warn potential victims or the creature’s master. By the descriptions, the adornments seemed to be made of silver, tarnished with age. It stood to reason that silver might be somewhat effective against their enemy.

Bobby provided the Winchesters with some silver he had lying around. It was initially meant to be melted down for bullets, but he’d simply never gotten around to it. Dean received a couple of simple chain necklaces, while Sam got a fairly large crucifix. He donned it in bed, between fits of vomiting.

Their healer would need some serious recovery time. Thankfully, his lovers knew what to do. Cas was the traditional caretaker when Sam overexerted himself, but in this case he took turns with Dean. They checked in on him periodically. Reapplied turmeric when necessary. Sometimes, they sat with him, tending to his personal hygiene and general comfort. It was a loving behavior Rosa witnessed dozens of times before they died. Things like this went a long way to convincing her that their strange relationship was genuine.

And if she’d had any doubts by the time they died, she certainly didn’t afterward. They couldn’t live without each other. That much was obvious when Cas got the awful news. Part of him died right there and then. Out of mercy and love for her friend, Rosa’s only logical option was to help him rejoin his companions.

As far as she could tell, they had a fantastic time in paradise. Returning to earth was not something they anticipated or even really wanted. Rosa was glad to see them—and she hoped they would be around for perhaps another lifetime—but she understood the shock of it. Experiencing no pain or hardship gave way to near-constant worry, physical problems, and fear. She saw the trouble in their eyes. They didn’t want to go through this again.

But they would, if it meant helping others. The trio didn’t just want to protect themselves against this thing, they wanted to kill it. Stop it from hurting or killing anyone else.

As such, Rosa spent nearly equal time on the two tasks (protecting against it and killing it), scouring her books and Bobby’s, as well as doing some simple online searching. A good first step? Finding the monster’s true name. Magic, unlike anything else, would be the most helpful in this endeavor.

She found the spell easily enough, buried in her favorite book. The problem lay in how it had to be accomplished. She would have to essentially summon the thing and force it to answer. While she certainly had the power to do so, she needed to take precautions to make certain it couldn’t hurt anyone when she brought it here. With limited instructions—she intentionally left out the part where the creature would be brought into the house—Rosa forced everyone out of the research room.

The witch cleared a large space in the center. She made a circle out of turmeric and double-checked it for weak spots. Rosa would have to sit _within_ the circle, putting her somewhat at risk of the creature’s less-lethal effects. She sat cross-legged with a bowl in her lap. The water appeared black against the dark ceramic. It was meant as a kind of magical mirror. She lit just one large candle and placed it next to her right knee.

With a stern voice, she stared into the bowl and began calling the monster by all the names they knew had been given to it. One after the other, she said the name and then ordered it to show itself. When she ran out, she added a few more of her own. Transgressor. Thief. Murderer. Essentially, the spell was designed to piss it off enough to show itself, whereupon the real work could begin.

After three cycles of the words, the air changed. There was a faint buzzing deep in her head, but she banished it with a thought. She kept her eyes on the bowl as it appeared. She would not directly acknowledge it. But she did see its reflection, foreboding and dark. “You shall not move within this circle,” she said calmly. “And you shall not move outside it. You shall not move, and you cannot move. Your feet are bound to the floor. You cannot move. You cannot do harm.”

The unwitting creature tried to advance but couldn’t. It attempted to howl, but she didn’t allow it. Rosa knew the thing didn’t speak, anyway, so what good was letting it burst her eardrums? She wished that the spell was more than temporary, that she could simply trap it somehow, seal it away in a box or perhaps a tree like in legends. But this monster was strong, and the spell fairly rudimentary. It would force its way through in time.

She dumped a bag full of Scrabble letters on the ground between them before moving on to the next stage. “You will tell me your name, áglæcwíf. You will tell me your name, kara ruh. You will tell me your name, kālē jānavara. You will tell me your name, transgressor. You will tell me your true name. You will tell me. _Tell me_.”

The monster bent down in place. Bells jingled as it reached with just one had for the letters. Though it had no visible eyes, the task was easy for it. Slowly, the wooden tiles clicked together to form a very distinct name. “ANGUSTIA.”

Spanish, because that was her first language. If it had been Italian, the monster would have given “angoscia.” Because its name was a concept. A very specific word with specific implications.

_Anguish._


	15. The Thing That Should Not Be

She sensed the thing’s attacks against her protections but felt that she could at least get one more question answered. “What is your purpose, Angustia?” Not, who sent it or why. She had a hunch that it acted on its own along pre-determined rules. It sought out the specific amount of energy it needed and took it. When it saw energy even stronger, the creature thought it won the lottery. It was like chumming the water for a shark.

The response took longer, either because of the fighting or because it was thinking over the question. Eventually, “EQUILIBRAR.”

_Balance._

Shit. Maybe it really was an animal, made for the purpose of trimming down the amount of human energy on earth. It might have been created by a stronger creature or god to fix what it felt was a population control issue, or it could’ve been generated by the universe like everything else. Regardless, something made it less effective at some point. But it was here to correct an imbalance of power. It was essentially a predator in an ecosystem.

There would be a practical dilemma in killing it—if they even could. What if this thing was needed? What if taking it out of the picture would cause some kind of cosmic disparity?

But if they didn’t, it might not only kill but permanently destroy the Winchesters. Drained souls might not be able to support the angel energy. It could all collapse. She wasn’t sure if they knew that or not, but it was a real concern of hers.

As cracks began to form in her protective casing around Angustia, she made one final move. The athame—dagger used in performing magic—she had used for the last ten years was one of the few things belonging to the trio that she kept. It was actually Cas’s, and she kept it because of the sentimental value. It was also made of pure silver. She didn’t dare try and get up to attempt a kill, as she feared it would disturb the turmeric, but she did have a purpose in mind.

Without lifting her head, she reached out and grabbed part of the creature’s hair. She sawed off a lock and placed the stolen hair into an old mint tin. Having a physical part of Angustia could get them that much closer to killing or banishing it for good.

Having her prize, Rosa refocused her energy on safely releasing the creature. She broke off the top of the protection, took hold of the dark form, and flung it as far as her skills could muster. Only then did she look up from her bowl. She found the circle empty except herself. With a sigh, she closed the tin to contain the hair and stood up.

Unfortunately, the stranger of the group—Frank—had not respected her command to stay away during the summoning. She wanted them gone mostly to avoid unnecessary anger, but it was also for their safety. Since this guy was well above Angustia’s age limit and he apparently had a child, he wouldn’t be in much danger. And he didn’t trust Rosa in the slightest. So, he decided to watch the witch without her permission.

His face was a mix of anger and horror. He stood in the doorway frozen in place, still staring in the direction of where the creature had appeared. Based on the descriptions, most people had that reaction to Angustia. Paralyzing fear. The anger was about her bringing the beast here without consulting him or anyone else.

But Rosa didn’t really give a shit. They brought her in to find a solution, and she would get one. Nothing terrible happened. In fact, it went much better than she expected, having gotten in two questions and taken a sample. This guy was expendable as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t here to help him.

“You brought it in the house?!” He stammered.

“I know its name and why it’s here,” she replied nonchalantly. “It was contained while here and now it is on the other side of the world. I have done you a favor. Don’t test my patience.”

Fear took over most of the anger in his expression. “You put us in danger,” he managed.

“You were already in danger, shithead. This thing targets a certain group of people, but it will take anyone in its way. It’s nothing but a hungry animal.” She blew out the candle, stood, and carefully stepped out of the circle. She would scoop up the turmeric for later use once this exchange ended. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. And anyway, what exactly have you done to help here? As far as I can tell, Sam and Bobby have done most of the research. Dean is on protective duty. And the other two are helping sustain all of you. Your cautiousness has made you useless, if you weren’t that way already.”

Frank had no retort. He did feel useless here, having not enough knowledge or strength to surpass the others. Perhaps that was why he became so resistant to change. He had only his morals, which on some level he knew weren’t really better than those of the others. Bobby kicked alcohol in hardly a blink of the eye, and his wife helped him through it every step of the way. Sam devoted his past life to healing people. Dean protected everyone around him regardless of whether or not he liked them. Castiel practically waited on them. What did he really have?

He found monsters where there were none.

Rosa was a powerful being, most likely capable of killing him with a wave of her hand or a few choice words. And though she seemed to already despise him, her warning was more about wanting respect than actually intending to hurt him. In comparison, Castiel _was_ human. He didn’t make threats. He had no power to back them up even if he did. When attacked—and Frank knew now that it was an attack—he simply retreated. Avoided. Tried to seek the support of his friends.

That was what humans did. And everyone but Frank saw it. They found his intense questioning to be cruel and unwarranted. They saw hiding the information as a defensive measure and not a betrayal of trust. And they were right to think that undue tension and conflict would come from the reveal. He did exactly what they feared he would do.

At once, he understood that the angel really was owed an apology as Sam strongly suggested.

“What now?” he said eventually.

“Bring the others in. Cas can help fix this mess, and I’ll fill everyone in on what I learned.” She didn’t have to tell him not to inform the others of what occurred. He agreed not to watch her and went against his word. He would only lose more of their trust. And anyway, nothing bad happened. Of course, he didn’t like it, but it wouldn’t be _useful_ to share the information. 

Frank left to bring Dean, Bobby, and Cas. Sam was still sick upstairs. They would tell him later. Ellen honestly didn’t want the specifics. The less she knew, the less she had to worry about. She put her faith in them to deal with the issue as capable hunters.

When the three filed in, Cas immediately headed for the circle to clean up. She admired his willingness to help, though she felt perhaps the others might be taking advantage of him and his need to fit in. She patted his back as he bent down to scoop up the dust. Turning to the hunters, she utilized her trademark bluntness to avoid wasting time. “The thing goes by Anguish, and it believes its purpose is essentially energy population control. It’s animalistic. Your extra power is not only a good meal, but Anguish believes it doesn’t belong here. In other words, whatever brought you back upset the balance, and its aim is to correct it.”

“Great,” was all Dean said. As a hunter, he was used to bad news. But he got a taste of a life with good things, and an afterlife with no pain or worry. He was just tired of having to do this again.

Bobby had more to add. “Any news on how to kill it?”

She shook her head but bent down to grab the tin full of creature hair. “No, but I have a piece of it now, which may help me find a way.”

No one asked how she obtained whatever was in that container, mostly because they really didn’t want to know (and Frank already did). So, as long as Rosa showed results, it was by any means necessary.

Cas used a piece of paper to lift the spice into a plastic bin. “Thanks, Rosa.”

She smiled down at him. Her mentor hadn’t lost an ounce of his selflessness or kindness. If it was anyone else, she might have been annoyed by it, but not him. He wasn’t pathetic but devoted. She didn’t share his unflinching love for others. It didn’t really suit her. But she could not deny that it was endearing.

She picked up the scrying bowl and headed for the kitchen to dump out the water. Bobby followed her while Dean went upstairs to share the info with Sam.

Frank, on the other hand, hung back in the research room. At first, he just watched the angel work. But he felt guilty. Why should this creature be their maid? What, to appease them or prove he was human enough to deserve their company? The more he thought about it, the more he hated it. Slowly, he approached and bent down next to Castiel. He started to funnel the turmeric into the tub, working counterclockwise.

“I got it,” Cas said tersely. He really didn’t want this man anywhere near him.

Frank nodded, but he didn’t stop helping. It wasn’t until it looked like Castiel would repeat the remark that he finally spoke up. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed his trepidation—and pride—to continue. “I’m sorry that I reacted the way I did. It wasn’t fair. I spoke to you like you’re not a person, and that was wrong.”

Castiel didn’t respond at first, nor did he look at him. He didn’t expect that such an apology would come or that this man could be remorseful for what seemed like a deeply held belief that only humans mattered.

The hunter continued. “I saw that thing, back at the station,” and just a few minutes ago. “ _That’s_ a monster. People that fight monsters are not, and it doesn’t matter what form those people take. I judged you when I should have accepted your role in this group.”

“Do you actually believe that?” was the inevitable question.

He nodded emphatically. “I do. It took me a long ass time to get there, but, yeah, I do.”

“I forgive you.”

Whoa. Frank did not think such a response would come that quickly. An apology was just words. He hadn’t _earned_ forgiveness yet. How the hell did he deserve to be forgiven?

But maybe he underestimated Castiel. Sam said that he might feel things even more deeply than humans. He may be quick to forgive anyone out of empathy or wanting to resolve a conflict. Or, maybe he just wanted to be done with this.

Or Cas didn’t think holding grudges would help anything. And in the grand scheme of things, their fight really didn’t matter. Surviving mattered. The Winchesters mattered. This man’s prejudices or the lack thereof were not the angel’s problem. He wanted to focus on getting rid of the monster, on protecting the people he loved.

“That’s kind of you,” said Frank in the humblest tone he could muster. Then, “Why don’t you let me clean the rest of this up? I could use a break from the books. And you can catch up with your friend.”

Cas hesitated, but he could find no flaw in his logic. He stood up and tried to wipe the yellow powder from his hands. He _did_ really want to talk to Rosa. She lived for ten years without them. He wanted to hear the stories—good and bad. He wanted to know how she was really doing. And he just longed to spend time with her again.

With little more than a nod, the angel left the room.

***

Dean lingered next to Sam after telling him the news, both out of necessity and love. His soulmate was still not keeping food down, and though it wasn’t the prettiest of jobs, Dean was willing to hold his hair when the nausea got too much. And he embraced him as his body shook. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He made sure Sam didn’t feel alone.

When the retching stopped for the time being, he disappeared long enough to retrieve a can of flat Sprite from the fridge. Cold sugar water, essentially. But both he and Cas knew the drill by now. They knew what worked specifically for Sam during the aftermath of overworking himself. While Cas had done the lion’s share, Dean was more than capable. He knew Sam. He understood both the treatments to get him better and the tactics to make him accept the help. Love wouldn’t cure him of this, but showing it would certainly help.

When he got about a third of the drink into Sam, he instructed his soulmate to lay back down on the bed, but he chose instead to lay in Dean’s lap. He held onto his knee tightly. “Don’t go yet,” he said in a voice far more vulnerable than usual.

Dean knew the others would be looking for him eventually, but he didn’t really want to leave either. He gently ran his hand along Sam’s shoulder and arm. “Just don’t puke on me, dude.”

A weak laugh. Some of his personality returned, and he relaxed beneath Dean’s touch. “No promises.”

***

Cas and Rosa sat down at the table with full mugs of tea—sans poison this time. She stared at him for a while, seemingly trying to convince herself that he was really there. And that he wouldn’t just vanish before her eyes. Eventually, her mentor broke the silence. “So, Austin?”

She nodded, taking a tentative sip of the hot beverage. “Yeah, uh, when my family emigrated here, we lived in Texas for a few years. San Antonio. It was my grandparents and my aunt and three cousins then. But Austin is more my style. You can be weird in Austin and nobody cares.” She laughed. “Pretty sure the guy above me sells shrooms.”

“Do you have any family there, still?” Cas knew she said she didn’t have any, but maybe she simply wasn’t close with the extended ones.

But Rosa shook her head. “No. My grandfather died when I was four. I barely remember him. My eldest cousin died in a construction accident. Youngest was a car crash. Nicolás made it until I was a teenager, but he couldn’t take losing his brothers. Got into drugs. Abuela tried to get him clean but he overdosed. Aunt took off and just never came back. And then it was just us for a really long time.” She let out a breath. “You know the rest.”

The angel changed the subject, as the last thing he wanted was to upset her. “What about the time we’ve been gone? Anyone special?”

She laughed. God no. While she appreciated sex and even dated a few times, romance seemed moronic. Rosa would either have to convince the person of who she really was or have lies be the foundation of the relationship. Neither option would go well. And anyway, she really didn’t need anyone else. The closest she’d gotten to anybody after he grandmother’s death were the trio. When they died, she reverted back to a solitary life. It was comfortable.

Of course, they were back now. If they managed to stick around for a while, she could see herself returning to something like their old life. “Not really, but I did pick up a few hobbies. And I actually had a job in a coffee house for a few years.”

Cas had to snicker at that. Rosa wasn’t really the service-with-a-smile type. But she _had_ grown substantially as a person while he knew her. There was no reason to think that growth would have stopped with his death. “What kind of hobbies? I can’t see you taking up hunting or anything like that.”

“No, definitely not! But don’t laugh. One of them is knitting.”

He smiled and stifled a chuckle. “That’s… useful.”

“The others are wushu,” a martial art, “and wine making.”

Those made more sense. She was always, at heart, a fighter. A modern-day warrior. Half of her bloodline was pure soldier, and her difficult human life only encouraged it. She functioned as part of a group when the situation called for it but otherwise lived as a one-person army. And the wine would serve as a form of relaxation from that. Hell, maybe the knitting would, too.

They were moving on to talk of the Kingdom when Frank entered from the other room. He washed his hands in the sink before grabbing a snack from the fridge.

Cas adjusted his language accordingly. He would make no mention of his trysts with Sam or the ones the Winchesters shared. At least in front of the hunter. Instead, he started where they left off, describing the trip to Taiwan, where he managed to convince his companions to try some of the less familiar food offerings. It turned out Dean really liked the noodles there, and Sam loved the people watching. Of course, they weren’t living people, at least not technically, nor were they the souls of other dead humans. But they _were_ a vivid memory of real people who were there, circa 1975. As a full angel, he could easily remember every detail of a place without even trying.

He explained that his presence there allowed the brothers to occasionally use angel sight, allowing Dean to actually see his wings and Sam to analyze his own flow of energy. It happened in waves as a function of their shared paradise at a rate of about six times per Earth year. He had no idea why, but it was a welcome bonus.

Rosa found that piece of information particularly interesting. She didn’t quite have angel vision. It was dulled considerably. While she could see demons for what they really were, she couldn’t look at souls or angels in the same way Cas did. She sort of _felt_ the difference, but that wasn’t the same. Along with healing, it was a gift she wished had come full-powered.

He explained that pre-colonial Africa and the Middle East were other favorite destinations, especially the old empires. They drank tea with Ancient Persians and visited the Great Pyramids in their original forms. For the three, paradise was like one long, incredible vacation.

Cas was still telling stories when Dean came down to greet them.

“How’s he doing?” Rosa inquired.

The older Winchester slumped into a chair at the table. “A little better, I guess. Still hurling. Can’t be on his feet more than a few minutes at a time.” He looked tired. The practice with his wings exhausted him in a very physical way, and he wasn’t getting much sleep with Sam so sick.

Cas reached over and patted his arm. “I can take the next shift.”

He wanted to object, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Sure, okay, Cas.”

“There’s a couch in the back room. You should get some sleep,” the angel instructed. “I think I can handle everything.”

Dean knew he could. Grateful, he kissed him and stumbled towards the sun room. Cas bid farewell to Rosa for now, promising to share even more tales from their trip upon his return. Though she didn’t want him to leave, she understood that Sam was more of a priority. She sat back in her chair and cradled the lukewarm cup of tea in both hands.


	16. Everybody Knows

“You and Cas made up, I take it,” she said without looking at the hunter. “You two have been avoiding being in the same room since I got here.”

Frank nodded. “I made a mistake. My worldview needed an upgrade.”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re gonna need a lot of that here. But I’m really glad you accept them now. It’ll make things easier.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, the boys.”

Confusion flooded his expression. “I’m not sure what you mean.” His difficulties barely extended to the Winchesters. He didn’t have much problem with their extra skills—as useful as they were. And Dean’s relationship with Castiel was just strange and misguided to him at first. But they were still human, and hunters to boot. Even his less accepting self still accepted them.

Rosa sighed. Maybe the guy wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “The three of them gettin’ it on.”

“Excuse me?”

At once, she realized she made a significant error. She silently cursed herself for being so forward. “That’s… not what you came to terms with, is it?”

Frank had to sit down. He took the seat Cas previously occupied and stared at her. He shook his head. He couldn’t even think about what she was suggesting. The Winchesters were, what, sharing the angel? Some kind of twisted love triangle? But he hadn’t seen even a hint of that from Sam. If anything, he spent far more time with Dean.

Oh god.

Either the Winchesters weren’t really brothers or—or they were. And—what the hell?! No. No, that wasn’t reality. It couldn’t be what she implied.

“Shit. Okay. So, uh, it wasn’t obvious?”

He shook his head once more. Everything that could have been interpreted as romance outside of just Dean and Cas together he easily wrote off as platonic. Friends close enough to live together in their past lives. And share a room here. And spend what they thought would be eternity in Heaven together. Fuck, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like an idiot. Sam was incredibly protective of Cas, and he in turn was protective of both the Winchesters. And the brothers? Well, they certainly _were_ close. At each other’s beck and call. Always looking to each other for support. Disappearing for an hour or so together—in the middle of the day—before the younger one made himself sick.

Frank gulped. He felt his stomach twist into a knot. “Please tell me you’re full of shit.”

Rosa could do no such thing. She took a moment to plan a way through this new problem. It was not her intention to betray the trio’s trust, certainly not after it took so long to earn it. She adored them. A lesser person might try to reason with this man. Explain the circumstances. Give him time to process it. But she went with a different approach.

“Nope.” She took a long sip of her tea, mostly to convey that this revelation didn’t bother her. “And you’re not gonna do a damn thing with this info either. It’s none of your business what they do together. It’s not your concern. You don’t get to have an opinion.”

Taken aback, Frank needed a few tries before he could speak. “What?”

“You heard me. You will not negatively engage them regarding their relationship. You will not criticize it. And you most certainly won’t confront them or say any of what I’m sure you’re thinking.” She leaned toward him and made direct eye contact. “Just don’t do it. Keep that shit to yourself, or, better yet, get the fuck over it.”

He thought her aggression was a little uncalled-for. He hadn’t even fully processed the news let alone made any attempts to condemn the three. His line of thinking would probably lead him there, but she didn’t even give him a chance to think about it.

But then again, his track record wasn’t great. Maybe she didn’t think he deserved benefit of the doubt.

Calming slightly, “You may ask me questions, however.”

Frank searched the chaos of his thoughts for something to help the situation. Then, “Do the others know?”

“Of course they do.”

“And they’re—you’re—okay with it?”

She gave a slow nod. Not at first, but she came around. Above all else, their love for each other was clear as day. One could not know them and befriend them without seeing its value. “It’s unconventional, but what in this world isn’t? Their relationship is strong, nigh unbreakable. And to answer your next question, completely and utterly consensual.”

Frank rubbed at his mouth with one hand, in part to avoid saying anything he shouldn’t. Finally, “How does… something like that happen?”

Rosa smiled wide. It was fake, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to tell. “Sam and Dean are soulmates. A kind of cruel and unusual cosmic joke. Once they were informed in adulthood,” apparently, by Rosa’s father, “they were drawn closer and closer together until the inevitable happened.” She paused to find the right words. “Cas and Dean were already together at the time. When faced with a potentially devastating choice, the three chose another option.”

“Soulmates…” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t think such a thing even existed. He thought it was a fictional specter of young adult novels.

“Cas and Sam, being good friends already, eventually found their way to each other, too. Now their individual relationship is as strong as the others.” When the man still wasn’t convinced, “You know the only way people can share Heaven with each other is if they’re soulmates. It’s not something you just decide. Cas had to ask for special permission.” From her father.

Frank hung his head and let out a groan. “This is too much.” How the hell was he supposed to understand or tolerate an interspecies incestuous love orgy? And moreover, why would anyone else want to?

“Love,” she continued, as though she’d read his thoughts. “Love is the driving force here. It is the prescribed cure for a pain neither you nor I could comprehend. Sex is the side-effect.”

“What would their parents think?” he found himself asking, despite his best interest.

Rosa shrugged. “They’re both long dead, so it doesn’t matter. But you should know that Bobby and by extension Ellen have also filled that role in their lives, and I already told you their opinion. What they have seen is three people being happy. What goes on behind closed doors is none of their business. You’d do well to follow their lead.”

He wasn’t sure he could do that. The idea disgusted him. “They’re not blood relatives, though.”

“Family isn’t just blood. It’s a wobbly combination of the people you are handed and the people you choose to be in your life. The ones you keep around are the ones that really value you, that care about you. Those people can and do overcome their own prejudices when it means seeing their loved ones happy.” Herself included.

Frank didn’t respond. He was still trying to wrap his head around the situation.

“I think that if you look—really look—at them together, even doing nothing romantic at all, you will see what everyone else here does. An inescapable connection built up with love and compassion and all the other shit you need to make something like that work. And anyway, it’s not like your opinion on the matter will change anything, nor do you have anything to say that they haven’t already heard or thought about themselves. Causing a ruckus would only alienate you again. And more importantly, it would piss me off.”

The hunter understood that the last part was a threat. That Rosa was willing to punish him for anything she deemed an indiscretion on his part. Most likely with real violence. “So, I can’t even discuss it with them?”

“Not if what you plan to discuss is the problems you have with their relationship.” She put down her mug of tea, now cold, on the table between them. Cas’s own sat nearby, discarded in favor of caring for his lover. “You may certainly tell them that you know, but there cannot be even a hint of revulsion in your voice. You cannot and will not attack them for this.”

After a long time to think, Frank summoned another question. “Can you convince me that what you’re saying is true? That there is somehow purity in what they’re doing?”

She shrugged. “Take what’s happening now. Sam overworked himself half to death trying to give the others a break in worrying about him.” She could think of no other reason why he would do so. “In turn, Dean has been at his side day and night, to his own physical detriment. Cas continues the trend, likely consoling our healer as his stomach contents spills into a waste basket for the tenth time today.” She could have used a dozen examples, including the suicides and their singular goal of sharing paradise. But this one was corporeal. It was dirty and raw. “Tonight, they will attempt to sleep in the same bed, awoken every few hours by another bout of sickness, which they will gladly tend to as they would any issue among them.”

Rosa inhaled slowly. Continuing, “In the morning, they will help each other get ready before returning to work, trying to save themselves and others from harm. I assume they have been intentionally hiding their relationship from you, to avoid the drama. Dean is most likely the fearful one in this case, and the other two love him enough to go along with it. But I’m sure it’s been painful for all three of them.”

“In life, they spent easily half a decade without hiding. They simply took different last names to avoid unnecessary questions. In death, they didn’t have to worry at all.” Rosa understood now that Cas intentionally avoided talking about relationship things in Heaven, because this man was in the room. She should have noticed. “Imagine having to pretend you don’t love someone you care about, so a complete stranger won’t berate and attack you.”

At least they wouldn’t have to do that anymore, she thought. With the cat out of the bag, the three could go back to the way they were. The way they belonged.

“By now, you know the character of each of them. You’ve seen the heart Cas has. Sam’s compassionate nature. Dean’s strength. You have met these three people, and they have allowed you to know who they are. I don’t get how you could witness all that and still want to hurt them.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. You won’t. I simply won’t allow it.”

Frank folded his arms across his chest and shifted in his seat. “It’s not their character that I’m having trouble with.”

“Isn’t it? You think somehow their relationship makes them bad people. Makes them disgusting or immoral. Right? But you have seen they are good people. You can’t have it both ways. Either they’re crazed deviants, or they’re just decent people in love with each other.” She studied him for a moment. “Either angels are monsters, or they’re not.” That had to be what the man’s original problem was. There were only two controversial things about the trio. Their relationship and their angel.

The last line struck home. Frank knew what she was doing, playing on the recent emotional turmoil to piggyback something very different. But there _were_ similarities. New information came in, and he was quick to pass judgement. Though the whole premise made him feel sick, he had a similar reaction to learning Castiel’s true identity.

He was about to pledge, at minimum, silence on the matter, when they heard shouting from the back of the house. Both stood in unison, rushing toward the sound of Dean calling for help. Frank was just a step behind Rosa as they entered the sun room.

Both knew what the cause would be, but their hearts still skipped a beat upon seeing the creature, bent over a cowering Dean Winchester. Rosa couldn’t be certain, but she thought the man must have already covered himself with his wings. But did he do it fast enough? And he only seemed to have a residual amount of turmeric on his skin. Angustia’s interest in him didn’t seem deflected. In fact, the creature didn’t even look at the others.

Rosa had grabbed the plastic container of gently used yellow powder on their way in. She wasted no time tossing handfuls of the stuff at the monster. “Leave him alone,” she ordered. “Leave us alone!”

It recoiled a little. Its hands contorted into claws, and it advanced toward Rosa. With a roar, Angustia made clear its intentions, to hurt her for interfering. (And possibly as revenge for their earlier conversation.) It took three steps in her direction but stopped abruptly. All involved looked down at the same time, to see a bright piece of metal protruding from beneath the creature’s long mane.

The tip of an angel sword, having entered through the back of its head. From behind blackening air in the room, the two could just barely make out the culprit. Dean had a better view. “Cas?!”

Angustia struggled against the implement, but it couldn’t seem to move or even turn to lash out at its attacker. To help, Rosa doused the thing in more turmeric. It screeched. With the precision of a warrior, Castiel removed the blade only long enough to stab it again, this time near the lower neck. Another blood-curdling scream. One more, he thought. And he silently hoped that he could hit the mark without giving Anguish a chance to retaliate.

He pulled the sword out, took only seconds to aim, and drove the implement into where he imagined the creature’s heart would be.

But to his horror, the wound was not fatal. None of them were. He retrieved the blade in an attempt to attack again, but the creature disappeared before his eyes. In the next moment, it was back. And at once he knew why. Rosa had dropped the container of spice and instead now stood with both hands raised. One held her glowing sword, the other caught Anguish and held it in place. She prevented it from leaving with her own angel strength.

In the past, this amount of power usage would have easily exhausted her. But not since her few abilities were unleashed. The reveal made her a more obvious target for certain creatures—and other angels—but it also helped her defend herself. And now, others.

She felt the vibrations as it prepared to leave. It was less like flight than teleportation. When Angustia wanted to move, it simply went where it intended to go. No wings. Just thought. But she could stop most things from moving—even atoms—just as easily as she could speed things up. As she stopped the creature from fleeing, she advanced with her red-hot sword stretched outward. “Not this time,” she growled. The angel sword did real damage. She could feel the holes inside the monster’s form. Not just the physical body but the dull energy it possessed. Rosa imagined it looked like moldy swiss cheese.

With a steady grip on her weapon, she swiped at the creature. A single, clean slash diagonally. She smelled burning hair and death. Though Anguish remained alive, it appeared as though its physical form consisted of rotten flesh, frozen in time. Its body was made of dead parts. Sustained on what? Power? Purpose?

It didn’t matter. If It could be wounded, it could die. Rosa slashed again and again, cutting past all that hair and into the disgusting flesh. Anguish grabbed the hand that held her sword, but she used her power to force it away. She swung back. If a stab to the head didn’t work, perhaps cutting it off entirely would.

But a projectile hit the monster first. A lamp, of all things, tossed with surprising accuracy at Angustia’s head. Everyone, including the creature, turned to look at the offender: Dean. “What? It couldn’t hurt.”

Rosa heard Cas stifle a laugh. Even in the direst of situations, the two could find levity. Frank cleared his throat. There were slightly more important matters to attend to. And he wasn’t even armed. He had a pocket knife. And maybe he could scoop up some of the turmeric, but that would put him too close for comfort with that thing.

The witch turned back, ready to behead Angustia.

And a gunshot deafened them all. With ears ringing, they looked first at the culprit—Bobby, who stood in the side doorway—and then at the creature, which began to literally melt before their eyes. A black ooze bubbled out from the wound in its head. It liquified slowly from the core outward. One of the hands reached toward Dean but eventually became motionless. It, too, dripped into a dark puddle on the floor. And it reeked, like roadkill baking in the sun for a few days. Amongst the putrid liquid, Rosa could see bits of hair and fabric, as well as the bell-adorned jewelry.

It was a moment before she turned back to the shooter and realized that he held a very specific gun. The Colt. It only had a few bullets left, but Bobby obviously thought the situation warranted its use.

“I am too god damn tired of this thing,” he said loudly, his own eardrums damaged from such a loud blast in the small room. “Oh fuck, what is that smell?!”

Rosa had to cover her mouth to avoid vomiting. Dean and Cas pinched their noses shut, and Frank quickly backed away. The old hunter began opening windows to release the odor. The angel eventually acted too, leaving the room to fetch a mop.

On his way, he heard a weak “Guys?!” from the stairs.

Bent over the banister stood Sam, barely able to stand let alone walk down stairs. He hadn’t experienced most of what went on, but the gunshot was probably heard blocks away. He knew no one would fire a weapon in the house unless there was trouble. He was terrified his lovers were in danger.

Cas rushed up to him. He tried to steady the healer along with reassuring him. “We got it,” he explained. “We got the fucking thing. It’s dead, Sam. It’s gone.”

“How, uh—” His knees weakened, and he had to grip both his angel and the wall to avoid falling. “How did you…?

With a sweet smile, Cas directed him to descend the steps all the way, so he could at least sit down in a chair on the ground level. It would take someone physically stronger to help him back to their room. He could only prevent him from tumbling down. “We threw everything we had at it,” he said with more than a little joy. “Magic bullet sealed the deal.”

Sam nodded sluggishly.

Laboring significantly, Cas dropped him as gently as possible into the softest chair they had in the main room. Quickly, he closed the door to the sun room, in an attempt to prevent the smell from permeating into the rest of the house. Sam’s stomach didn’t need another reason to rebel. Then, he returned to his companion’s side. The others could clean. He had a more important job now. With resolve, he held Sam’s head in his hands and spoke quietly. “It’s gonna be okay now,” he promised. “You’ll feel better soon, and we can get back to our lives.”

A figure appeared at the far end of the room. Cas couldn’t see who it was. “Dean?” he inquired.

“No,” said the voice. It was Frank.

Cas realized he was still holding onto Sam perhaps too tenderly, but he didn’t move his hands away. He didn’t care in that moment. He only wanted to help Sam feel better.

When the angel said nothing, Frank filled the silence. “What’s he doing out of bed?”

Real, actual concern? Cas wasn’t sure he believed it. They’d only just begun to mend a friendship that was tenuous at best before the man found out he wasn’t human. He didn’t seem to be the caring type, at least not on a deep level.

“Gunshot,” Sam answered for him. He sounded drunk.

Frank tentatively paced toward them. When he finally got there, he looked down at the two. This wasn’t romance, he concluded, but it was the kind of substantial connection that people who loved each other had. He silently thanked the universe that it was the angel and Sam he witnessed first. It would take much longer to accept and understand two siblings acting this way. But this particular situation looked no different than Castiel and Dean, or any other couple, really.

He could work with this. Frank reached down and felt Sam’s forehead with the back of his hand, checking for fever. It _was_ fairly hot to the touch. His concern grew. “Hold on a sec.”

Frank strode quickly to the kitchen and retrieved a paper towel. He broke a couple ice cubes out of a plastic tray and wrapped them up. From a first aid kit, he found some ibuprofen. Returning, he offered the items. “He’s burning up,” Frank explained. “He can’t get better with a fever.”

In all the chaos, Cas hadn’t thought to check since yesterday. He applied the cold compress to Sam’s forehead and held it there. As for the medicine, he borrowed a neglected can of soda that he thought belonged to Dean and instructed his patient to swallow the pills. Sam took an excruciatingly long time to comply, but he eventually did. For a few moments, he looked like he might not be able to keep it down, But eventually he stabilized. In half an hour or so—hopefully—his fever would break, and he would feel a lot better.

“Thanks,” Cas said quietly.

Ellen appeared from upstairs, where she had been napping in the master bedroom. When she heard the gun, it wrenched her awake. But she didn’t immediately go to see what happened. She feared she would either be hurt or get in the way. Or both. After a few minutes, her worry for her husband and the others compelled her to investigate. She was relieved to see three living members of the group, and more so that they didn’t seem upset or particularly disturbed.

The angel addressed her without looking away from Sam. “Everyone’s fine,” he answered the unspoken question. “And the monster’s dead.”

“It’s a helluva mess though,” Frank added. “I’d stay clear of that back room for a while. Where do you keep the cleaning stuff?” While he somewhat easily came to terms with this rung of a very complicated relationship, he knew he was no longer needed here. And anyway, he’d dealt with that smell more times than he could count. He was the most prepared for disposing of the remnants.

Ellen pointed to a small closet in the hall behind her. With a nod, he began collecting supplies. Cas stayed with Sam, who seemed to float in and out of consciousness. He kept the compress firm against the man’s head and held his hand.

With a sigh, the lady of the house walked up to the two of them. “Anything I can help with?”

Cas smiled up at her. “No, I think we’ll be okay.”

It was at least quarter of an hour before Rosa and Bobby turned up. Ellen hugged the latter, and the two left to discuss the day’s events. The witch, on the other hand, looked worn out. The extended use of her power drained much of her energy. She collapsed into a nearby chair and leaned her head back. “The other two are dealing with the sludge,” she informed them. “I’m not touching that.”

He couldn’t blame her, really. The smell alone was reason enough to avoid it at all costs. But if there was any hope to save the floor—thankfully hardwood and not carpet—it would have to be cleaned immediately. He did not envy Dean or Frank in the task, nor did he look forward to what they might smell like when they finished.

After a long time, Rosa roused enough to assess the situation. Sam didn’t belong down here. He was obviously still very sick. But he wasn’t the type of person to stay behind if he thought others were in trouble. Self-sacrifice was practically a religious practice with the trio. Though she thought they could do with a little less of that, she knew there was no point in trying to change them. Of course, Cas was here to pick up the pieces, and he did so with as much love as possible.

“The newcomer knows now,” she said suddenly. “About you three.”

Even Sam woke up enough to react to that. “What?” he asked weakly.

“I didn’t realize it was a secret. My apologies.” Rosa shifted her weight and cracked the knuckles in both hands. “But you don’t have to worry. He won’t start anything. He may not even bring it up.”

“Dean won’t…” Sam couldn’t quite form a full sentence.

But Cas shook his head. “He’ll be okay. And things will be easier now.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, but his fever prevented him from further protests. And anyway, they couldn’t undo what happened.

The angel wasn’t prepared to end the conversation so quickly. “How do you know he won’t be a problem?” After all, Frank flipped out when he discovered Cas’s angelic history. A multi-person partially incestuous sexual and romantic relationship would be difficult for anyone to comprehend or accept, especially if they didn’t now the three of them very well.

“I threatened him.”

“What, really? Rosa, you shouldn’t—” But he stopped himself. Kindness was a virtue, but sometimes strength got things done. And if it meant they wouldn’t have to answer overly personal questions or fight with someone to be respected, then Cas didn’t really care. “I guess that’ll work.” He looked over at Sam for confirmation, but he made no response.

Rosa grinned a little. “Want me to tell the other one?”

“No, I’ll tell him.” Cas thought it better that Dean hear it from someone who loved him. “When he’s done with the room.” Sam managed a weak pat of reassurance on the angel’s arm.


	17. Black Water

The base cleanup took three hours. They funneled the dead monster muck into a bucket and took it outside for burial. Frank insisted on keeping one of the bells for further inspection, just in case. He said he’d clean it and give it to Rosa if she needed it for spells. But before that, he would dig a hole to bury the rest of the evidence.

Dean got on his hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. Soap and water. Household cleaner. At least a dozen different towels, all of which would be discarded with the creature. When he finished, the room still smelled faintly of death (on top of artificial lemon scent.) They put two fans on opposite sides of the room, directed outward in an attempt to remove the odor. Until it was gone, the room would be quarantined from the rest of the house. As for him, Dean badly wanted a shower.

He walked through the empty main room and quickly up the stairs. He could vaguely feel his soulmate in their room, but he didn’t want to check in just yet. Best he didn’t smell like a corpse. He darted into the bathroom and turned on the water.

It took more than twenty minutes of cleaning—including shampooing his hair twice—for Dean to be satisfied that the stench was gone. He threw his clothes in the trash and cinched the bag closed. They could get more. He didn’t want anything to be left of that thing and its horrible remnants. He would toss the items out after seeing Sam.

He made his way to the room in just a towel and quietly opened the door. There, he found not only his brother—unconscious—but Cas, who watched over him. The angel looked up and smiled. “That bad, huh?”

Dean nodded. He took a seat next to him and kissed his shoulder.

“You know, he came downstairs when the gun went off,” Cas began. “Well, about halfway. Rosa helped me bring him back up.” There was a pause as he tried to find the best way to phrase it. “She told me that, uh, earlier this afternoon she accidentally let Frank know about us. The three of us.”

He raised an eyebrow. Cas could see the muscles in his arms and jaw tighten.

“I guess we didn’t really tell her. She was used to us before. The way we were.” He didn’t want to upset Dean, but he knew the information probably would. He tried to soften the blow as best he could. “She told him, and then she made sure he’s gonna be on his best behavior.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “She said something between ‘you will be punished’ and ‘I’ll kill you if you’re an asshole.’ I don’t think she would really do anything, but I’m sure he believes she might.”

Dean looked down at his hands. He just spent three hours with the guy. Being judged, most likely. Though he didn’t hear a word of it. “Are you happy? I mean, that this happened. Are you happy that this guy knows now?”

The angel knew from experience that the hurt in Dean’s voice wasn’t really directed at him. It was fear mostly. Turned outward. “I’m not gonna lie to you. It sucks pretending I don’t love Sam, and I think it’s twice as bad for him. But you didn’t want us to tell him, so we didn’t. We care about you. I would have sworn Rosa to secrecy, but I just forgot. I was too worried about both of you.”

Dean gave a slow nod, but he didn’t look at him.

Feeling less than stellar, Cas grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers. “You should know, Frank was with us, me and Sam. He didn’t say anything about it. But he did help me get his fever down. And then he offered to clean. I’m not sure the threat was even necessary.” When his words only calmed Dean a little, Cas kept going. “I love you, Dean. I love you, and Sam loves you, and everyone here adores you. No one is gonna let this guy or anybody else be a dick to you. Seriously. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m not worried about me.” He looked over at Sam as he slept.

Cas wasn’t so sure. This was more of a hang-up Dean had. Sam would probably scream it from the rooftops if he didn’t think it would upset his brother. He really didn’t concern himself with what other people thought. So, Cas kept it simple and direct. “Being open would make him very happy. He doesn’t care about things like that, Dean. He really doesn’t.” After a moment, “You can ask him yourself when he wakes up.”

That last statement pulled the older Winchester back to reality. He looked at Cas with an ounce of shock in his expression. “No. No, I-I believe you. I trust you.”

Cas leaned on him and let out a breath. “It’s okay that it bothers you, what people think of us.”

“They don’t know what I know.”

“Does it matter? _I_ know. Sam knows. We know you love us. And you know we love you. And a ton of other people see it when they look at us. It was such a given that Rosa didn’t even consider that we might be hiding again. If you need acceptance outside of us, you already have it with the rest of this house.” He put his arm around him. “Even if a few people don’t take the time to understand us, we know who we are, and we have support if and when we need it.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I don’t want anyone looking down on you or Sam.”

“Or you?”

He shot Cas a glare, but it quickly softened. “Or me,” he admitted.

The angel kissed his cheek and lingered there for a moment or two. Then, “We can’t control that, but we can control who we keep around. If Frank even so much as looks at you or us wrong, we kick him out. The job’s done, anyway.” Another kiss. “But I don’t think we’re gonna have to worry about that. If he thought so little of us, why would he keep helping? Rosa didn’t threaten him to clean up dead monster with you. She didn’t make him help me take care of Sam. The guy might need a little time to fully get us, but it’s not that far out of reach.”

Cas really didn’t care if Frank came around or not, but Dean did, so he would support him.

“I don’t even know why I give a fuck what he thinks.”

He pondered the problem quietly. It didn’t take long for him to come to a plausible answer, but he knew his lover wouldn’t like it. “Do you think it might be because he’s around the age your father was when he died? An older hunter who still hunts. Shitty relationship with his kid. Sees things in black and white.” Cas made no attempt to hide his disdain. While he’d never met John Winchester, he knew enough to despise him. He treated his children like soldiers, neglected them at every turn, and emotionally manipulated Dean into thinking his brother’s safety rested squarely on his young shoulders.

Dean groaned, but Cas could see his eyes widen. “No, that’s not…” But his voice trailed off. He covered his face with both hands. “God damnit.”

He held him even closer. “Whatever your father might think of us, I doubt his opinion would be any more important than a stranger like Frank. How old were you when he first handed you a gun? How old was Sam? The guy didn’t exactly make the best choices in life.” He knew the honesty might hurt Dean to hear, but he thought he needed to hear it. “He didn’t care for you like a parent is supposed to. So, I don’t think he gets to be offended as though he was one.”

“Cas, c’mon.”

“No. That man turned your childhood into one long boot camp. His opinion doesn’t mean shit.” He kept his voice down only to avoid waking Sam prematurely. “You have a dad. He owns this house. And he loves you and supports us being together. I don’t think Bobby could pass judgement on you and Sam even if he wanted to.” His own relationship with the man was a little more turbulent, but at the end of the day they were family, too.

“He did the best he could,” was Dean’s weak defense.

But Cas shook his head emphatically. “Even if that’s true, and I’m sure he did a few decent things, his best was far from good enough. There’s a reason the idea of telling him upsets you. Because you know he would attack you for it. You, specifically. He probably wouldn’t even try to understand the situation. He would just blame you like I’m sure he did for hundreds of other things that _aren’t your fault_.”

Dean tried and failed to hold back tears, his shoulders trembling slightly. Cas held onto him. They should have had this conversation years ago. Continuing, “He would be terrible about it because he was terrible about a lot of things. That doesn’t mean you deserve it or that you ever did.”

The younger Winchester understood this fact a lot better than his brother. He saw how Dean was treated—knew it was worse than what _he_ got—and he hated it. He thought their childhood sucked. He even tried to escape the whole thing by going to college, but Dean felt abandoned, and Sam didn’t really like being away from him for too long, anyway. They knew now that the soulmate bond contributed to that need to stay close.

Indoctrination from an early age gave Dean the hang-ups he had now. Parts of his personality were damaged by the awful way that man treated him. It might even be the root of his depression. Cas had no sympathy for John Winchester.

“He saved us, though,” Dean replied, but there was no heart behind it. “In the end.”

“So? Does that fix the fact that he made you feel like shit for _years_ , or that he’s still doing it now?”

Dean hung his head. But he found a bit of self-confidence, deep down, that was likely put there by the other two people in the room. “No, it doesn’t fix it.”

Cas kissed him gently and rubbed the back of his neck. “You have to stop letting him control you. It’s preventing you from being happy. That guy downstairs is not your father. He’s a nobody that probably doesn’t even hate us the way you’re worried he might.”

“I don’t know how to just turn that off,” he confessed.

The angel kissed him again. “We’ll help you.”

He nodded solemnly.

Cas gripped his hand. “Why don’t you stay with Sam for a while? He misses you. I’ll talk to Frank and see what’s up. But I don’t think you have to worry, sweetheart. I’m sure of it.”

Another nod. Dean reached over and gently touched Sam’s cheek.

With that, the angel made his departure. He knew facts would reach his love more than a thousand reassurances. He couldn’t bring John Winchester back from the dead, but he _could_ ensure that Frank wouldn’t be a threat. Later, when Sam was feeling better, maybe he could help too, either through the use of his healing or just his own kind words.

Once downstairs, Cas found Frank cleaning up the main room alone.

He sat down in the corner where Sam spent days researching. The laptop lay closed nearby. He ran his fingers along the edge. Better just come out with it. “I need you to tell Dean you don’t give a shit about who he sleeps with.”

Frank froze, midway through wiping down the board. He clasped the eraser in both hands. “I don’t want nothing to do with this. It’s none of my business what you all are doing.” He didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. Threats aside, it made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t exactly the most emotional person to begin with. He didn’t like talking about relationships in general, let alone one so weird.

“That’s fine. Trust me, I don’t really want to have this conversation either.” Frank may have apologized, but they still weren’t exactly friends. And anyway, it _wasn’t_ his concern. But by way of seeming just a fraction like John Winchester, this man’s opinion mattered to Dean, and so Dean would get it. “But I need you to talk to him specifically.”

“Why?” He turned to look at the angel. “What could I possibly tell him that you couldn’t?”

Cas kept his face perfectly calm, but stern. “He needs to hear that there’s nothing wrong with him. He thinks I’m biased.”

“Why not get Bobby or Ellen or your friend?”

He rolled his eyes. “Same problem.”

It took every part of Frank not to suggest that maybe there _was_ something wrong with Dean—and by proxy Sam. That perhaps the healthiest one among them was actually Castiel. But he remembered the threats, and he tried to center himself. At least on the surface, the three were kind, willing to help, generous. And he wasn’t so thick as to avoid noticing that Dean was the most troubled. That boy took the world with him wherever he went. He carried a weight beyond what was typical of most hunters.

“What if I’m not convincing?”

Castiel put his feet up on a coffee table. “You need to be.”

With a headache coming on, Frank paced over to the angel and looked down at him. He gestured with the eraser. “I won’t know what to say If you don’t explain this to me.” Obviously, there remained some element to this story that he was missing.

Cas pursed his lips. “He doesn’t believe he is important or worthy of acceptance, because a person very much like you made sure he didn’t. A long time ago. That person is gone, but you’re here.”

Frank snorted. It didn’t take a genius to get what the angel was saying. “He’s got daddy issues?”

“Who doesn’t?” Cas countered. He wouldn’t be fazed by the man’s clumsy language. “But think of it this way. What kind of a father is a hunter?”

Ouch. Castiel knew he hadn’t seen his daughter in almost a decade. And though the angel had not been filled in on the details, they were easily assumed. Hunters lived solitary, almost nomadic existences. A child could neither tolerate that life nor be safe doing so. And most hunters’ personalities were not exactly sunny. Frank knew about John Winchester, if only from stories. If he was a hunter, and his kids were hunters, then were they brought up that way? In the blood and dirt and death? From how young?

He couldn’t even imagine dragging Marie along on jobs. “I am not his father. And I’m not like him,” Frank said confidently. He made a choice on his daughter’s behalf. He couldn’t bring himself to retire for her sake—an error he would never forgive himself for—but he could protect her from this life. He could keep her safe by staying away.

“I know,” said the angel, to Frank’s surprise. “That’s why you’re gonna do this.”

He let out a big sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, he opened them once more. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just tell him you’re fine with us. That it doesn’t make a difference either way. I’m not asking you to write a glowing review. Just be obviously neutral on the subject.” Cas didn’t even care if it was true or not. Dean didn’t need this man’s real approval, but he needed to feel accepted. And more importantly, normal.

Frank thought about it for a while before answering. “I can do that.”

“I’d appreciate it a lot.”


	18. Hangin’ on a Limb

In the next few days, the group relaxed to an extent, but Bobby and Rosa kept them on track. The monster was gone, thankfully, but a greater mystery still remained. Who resurrected the trio? Why? And did it have anything to do with their visitor? A sense of foreboding remained. It would have to be an intensely powerful creature. One that, as of yet, had not revealed itself. And one that dwarfed Anguish in strength and potential ability to terrify.

A strong angel or a demigod or—something they had yet to encounter

The research room kept its purpose, but they started anew. With even less to go on.

According to the three, there were no signs of magic at the abandoned hospital. No new marks on their bodies. Nothing weird at all except for their lack of clothing, some dirt, and a seemingly random location. Privacy was the assumed reason for the locale. But that didn’t really help. They returned in order and approximate timeframe of their demises. First Dean, then Sam, then a pause, and finally Cas. They came in screaming and confused, like infants being born. The Winchesters were secured to tables. Castiel was not.

It took much longer for their abilities to return, as though whoever or whatever brought them back didn’t care if they could defend themselves, didn’t think they would need to, or didn’t get a chance to help them do it.

Sam strongly believed that the process had been interrupted, possibly by Anguish or something else. The healer, who still needed time to recover but could at least move throughout the house, threw himself a little too quickly back into research. His lovers had to curtail his enthusiasm, reminding him that he couldn’t get better without rest and food.

Since Frank spent the most time with the younger Winchester, his view into the life of the three-person relationship revolved around him. He saw, as the others saw, the level of attention the two paid. He watched Castiel easily fall into an affectionate role, with a side of caretaking. And more interestingly, he caught the few brief exchanges with Dean. Hands touching. A whispered declaration of love. Prolonged eye contact. The two of them didn’t watch their movements nearly as much as before Frank knew, but some of it he should have noticed. It seemed so obvious now.

He still hadn’t kept his promise to the angel. Not for lack of trying. He needed to speak to Dean privately, but he didn’t exactly want to make an appointment. And the only times he saw him were with the others. Frank wouldn’t be surprised if the guy was avoiding him intentionally, for fear of the judgement Castiel described.

In the end, he settled for Sam staying in the room. After Dean offered an extended touch to his lover’s cheek, the healer smiled at him and put on his headphones to continue researching. It was close enough to privacy. Frank caught Dean before he could leave the room.

“You know,” he started slowly. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, “You don’t have to hold back on my account.”

“Huh?”

He smiled. “With Sam. Or Cas for that matter. I really don’t care.”

“Why not?” Everyone else did, at least at first. Bobby and Ellen came around fairly quickly, but they also knew the brothers the best. Rosa took more than a year. Everyone else either just ignored the subject or backed off. Or they didn’t know, like most of Sam’s former patients.

Frank shrugged. Out from his pocket, he pulled the ring he saved from Anguish—well-cleaned. He listened to the ball inside the bell click against the metal. “I’m here to do a job. What I worry about is firepower and whether or not I can trust the people fighting next to me. You all sharing a room really isn’t that important. Besides, it means I don’t have to take the couch.” He laughed.

The words came far easier than he expected. Maybe because he wanted to get it over with or because he had so much time to prepare. Or because it was becoming truer and truer the more time he spent with them. At the end of the day, did he really care? When faced with all the other problems in this world, something socially unacceptable but relatively harmless didn’t really seem very significant. Uncomfortable, yes, but not relevant in the grand scheme of things.

And he could say with some certainty that the trio functioned better as a cohesive group than separately. “In other words,” he continued, “do your thing. It seems to work for you, so I’m sure as hell not gonna get in the way.”

Dean was surprised to hear these statements, more so that they came so freely. Though he would hate to admit it, the conversation relieved him. God, he missed not having to calculate every move he made with Sam. Most of their public interactions were automatic in a way. Comfortable. To avoid them was to fight his instincts. “Uh, thanks,” he eventually managed.

Frank patted the man’s upper arm. “You’re lucky, you know, to have so many people that care about you. Hold onto that.” If being with an angel and his own— _soulmate_ —could help him through whatever hardship he faced, then it would benefit everyone.

Nodding, Dean looked over at Sam, who seemed oblivious that the discussion even took place. “Yeah.” With that, he made his departure. But once he was out of sight, Dean couldn’t help but smile.

Mission accomplished. Castiel would be pleased, and everyone could get back to work.

And they did, turning to the hundreds of tomes in Bobby’s library, as well as online, to find what could possibly cause a spontaneous resurrection.

But as the group searched, one thing became painfully clear. Everybody had a story about people coming back to life. Every single culture had _something_. Maybe an eighth of the stories could be tied to a real event, but mostly it just seemed to be a function of the human imagination. Wishful thinking that loved ones could return someday. It was as common as belief in an afterlife.

Amongst the credible accounts, more than half of those were never humans to begin with. Shoot a vampire in the head, he’s walking around town the next day. Werewolf gets hung, comes back that night. There were a dozen accounts that they strongly suspected were angels walking around in other people’s bodies. Demons everywhere. Maybe even a demigod or two.

Popular stories like Jesus and Hindu reincarnation were out, because they gave no real explanation, and anyway, the trio were neither the sons of God nor inhabiting completely different bodies.

They brought in Cas to help identify the angelic stories and to explain the process by which an angel could and would bring a human back to life. He outlined everything for them, like conveying an oral tradition of his people. As he spoke, he sat perfectly still on the edge of his chair and didn’t stop until he’d told them everything.

Angels reconstructed the bodies from whatever was left, similar to how Sam’s healing power worked. Then they found the soul in Heaven or wherever else it went and pulled it back. Finally, they wiped the person’s memory of an afterlife, so as not to destroy their opinion of being alive.

Cas explained that he didn’t think angel intervention brought them back, as they all remembered the Kingdom very well, and they would have woken up immediately. Not on some delay. They also wouldn’t have been screaming. Moreover, he thought that an angel would have revealed itself to them by now. Patience, he explained, wasn’t really something angels valued.

And bringing these three specific people back would require a different approach. They all had angel parts. A different strength and style of energy. Whatever brought them back either had full control over that complexity or was so strong it didn’t have to worry about it. Cas tried not to alarm everyone with this fact, but he knew they quickly understood. Their fates were in the hands of a creature they didn’t know anything about.

“I just can’t get over why,” Dean said after his angel finished his speech. “What the hell do we have that this thing wants?” Angel power wasn’t exactly rare. Wouldn’t it be easier just to pluck a normal one out of the sky or something?

Cas looked across the room at him with sympathy in his expression. “We’re definitely different.”

“Yeah, but how useful to something that can wake the dead?”

Sam, who was closer to Dean in the room, reached out and touched his leg. “Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe it brought us back because it thinks we belong here. Maybe this is just a second chance.”

His soulmate didn’t buy it. But he appreciated Sam’s unflinching optimism. No one else in the house thought it could be something benign. Even if Sam didn’t either, he would always present the best possible option, to give everyone else hope. “Do you want it to be a second chance?” he asked, as though the room weren’t full of people.

The intimacy of the question surprised him, but he pretended not to notice. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. Heaven was functionally better than being alive, but being here meant surprises and friends and a whole lot of unpredictable things. It meant new experiences at the cost of safety and protection from pain. If they got through whatever was coming, there was a chance Sam could return to his old life of healing people. They could get a house together again. Start over. And then they would simply go back to paradise when the time came.

Hopefully.

Sam tried not to entertain the thought that they might be unable to return, either because the creature wouldn’t let them or any number of other reasons. He did love Heaven. He loved every moment of the time he spent there with Dean and Cas.

So, the answer was yes, he did want it to be a second chance, provided they would eventually return to their paradise together. “It could work, for a while,” he added. When Sam looked over at their angel, he saw confirmation there. Cas would love to have a life again. To have what got cut short.

Dean pushed down the sadness that came with this conversation. His companions shouldn’t even _need_ a second chance. They should still be alive. Only his death made sense. It was the only one that happened and nobody could stop it. And to be honest, he thought it was his time. Being back didn’t feel right. As much as he might enjoy a second life, he loved Heaven. He felt like he belonged there. But Sam and Cas took a faster route.

No wonder they didn’t feel as attached to being upstairs. It wasn’t their turn. They just wanted to be wherever he was. They’d probably even off themselves again if anything happened to him. He hated it. He hated that this was their truth.

Sam could feel that depression bubbling up in his soulmate once more, but he was still too weak to help him. It would be at least another couple days. “Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested. “I think I need one.”

Like clockwork, Dean switched into protective mode, shoving his own troubles down for now. He stood and offered the healer his hand. As they left the research room, his arm drifted to Sam’s lower back. Cas followed the two of them to the kitchen. But Sam dropped the charade immediately. He turned to face Dean and kissed him before moving in for a hug. “You’re hurting again,” he said quietly.

His soulmate’s face changed, and his lip quivered. “This is my fault.”

Sam shook his head. He wouldn’t hear any of that. But Cas beat him to a reply. “No, it isn’t. You haven’t done anything wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with you. Look at me.” When Dean did, “You didn’t cause any of this. Not the monster. Not the resurrection. Not our deaths. None of it. None of this is your fault, Dean. You bring good things into the lives of the people around you. You’re a light.”

He crumbled, bursting into tears again. It broke both of their hearts to see. “You’re wrong,” was all he said.

Sam directed his brother over to a chair and made him sit. “We know you better than you know yourself,” he whispered. “Don’t sell us short.”

Dean couldn’t get himself to look at either of them. He felt like he could die from the weight of what he carried. Not that he wanted to but that he actually could perish from it. Every part of his body hurt, and his hands trembled.

They’d seen enough. Cas looked over at the healer and with a stern tone said what they were both thinking. “Do something.”

He couldn’t fix this now or possibly ever, but he didn’t have to do it right this moment. Sleep—unconsciousness—would alleviate the pain for now. And it took far less energy to accomplish. It could hurt a little, like running on sore muscles, but it would be cruel not to. He reached for Dean’s right temple and put him out before he could object. Cas caught him as he slumped over.

“Shit,” Sam muttered, looking down at them both. “I thought I’d helped him more than this.” Or that at least the effects would last longer.

The angel pressed his face against the side of Dean’s. “He didn’t hurt like this in the Kingdom. The contrast alone…” He gulped. “There may not be a solution to this while we’re still alive.”

“I need to try,” Sam replied sluggishly, feeling the effects of overwork once more. He had to lean against the counter behind him. “He deserves to live without this shit following him around, right? He deserves to really be free from this. And I don’t think dying is a good enough answer.”

Cas nodded. “I know. I just—I know you can feel how much pain he’s in.”

“I’ll fix it,” Sam insisted. “We’ll fix it.”

Working together, the two essentially carried him up the stairs and back to their room. Sam stayed, vowing to put him back under if things got bad again. Privately, he was too dizzy to return to his research. Cas kissed the younger Winchester before heading downstairs.

He didn’t expect a crowd, which had gathered in the kitchen and nearby hall. He scanned their faces and saw only concern. Not a single person in the house was stupid. They heard the initial exchange, and unbeknownst to the trio, Frank listened to the second part at a close distance. He alerted the others that something was going on, that Dean appeared to be sick or messed up in some way. That Sam knocked him out cold with his power—something Frank didn’t know was possible.

Now, they stood waiting for an explanation, and Cas was the only one to give it.

“What’s going on, kid?” came from Bobby. As the leader of the house, he planned to take control of the situation. It was a little funny that he called a several-millennia-old being “kid,” but Cas appreciated the friendliness of it.

“Dean’s not feeling well,” was the angel’s insufficient reply.

Ellen snorted. “Not feeling well _how_? If it’s something dangerous our magical or whatever, we need to know so we can handle it.” Or protect against it.

But this wasn’t the kind of secret they feared, and Cas told himself to remain calm. It wasn’t a witch hunt. They simply worried about Dean. “It’s not any of that. He’s just—depressed. He’s very, very depressed. He was before we died, but we got a reprieve in the Kingdom. Now that we’re back, and we don’t have our house or stability or any of it, it’s worse. It’s a lot worse. Sam tried healing him last week, and it worked for a little while, but now it’s worn off.” He gulped. “Sam isn’t strong enough to try again yet, so we took the second-best option.”

“Unconsciousness?” Frank asked.

“Anesthesia.” He moved through the crowd to the sink, where he looked out the window. “He went from no pain at all to deep psychological hardship. When he has an episode, he can’t really even function.”

Frank still wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but not for any reason Cas would’ve suspected. “That sounds more like PTSD.”

Cas blinked. “What?”

“Episodes. You said he had episodes. He’s okay for a while and then something sets him off and then he’s a mess. He’s not just depressed but distraught. Often. He sleeps a lot but never gets a good quality of sleep. Stop me if I’m getting any of this wrong.” He straightened his back and winced. Too much sitting in one place for too long. “He doesn’t know the war ended.”

The angel felt like he could cry. He’d never really considered it. The Winchesters were so used to violence and strife. He assumed it hardened them. He never thought that it might have done very specific psychological damage beyond a self-esteem issue and some depression. But it fit. Dean was four when he entered the hunting life. He carried his brother out of a burning building and lost his mother on the same day. Only to then experience an incredibly shitty childhood full of fear. Constant fear. He was old enough to know what was wrong but too young to stop it.

“How do you know all that?” The man was right about the basics. Cas took enough psychology courses to understand them himself. But where was Frank getting his info?

“I can’t even tell you how many Vietnam War vets became hunters. Too many.” Including John Winchester, if his memory served him. “They couldn’t return to their regular lives so they found something that was closer to war. Or it found them. Either way. And don’t let anyone fool you. Hunting is war. This is exactly what war is.”

And Cas knew that it didn’t even take a battle scenario for a person to get PTSD. You just needed to be afraid for an extended period of time. Kids in non-hunting abusive households got it all the time.

As to why Sam also didn’t end up sick? Well, there were a handful of possible reasons. Dean would be at the top of the list, since he served as a constant form of stability. Their father didn’t shield them in any way that mattered, but Dean protected Sam at every possible turn. He felt it was his job. He cushioned his brother from harm. And because of that, his soulmate was never quite as afraid.

Sam also grew up completely in the life. He may have acclimated better. And he rebelled against what their father taught and preached (while Dean accepted it as law). He used a thousand forms of escapism to avoid the full impact of what happened. And eventually he left entirely. While none of that would have perfectly prevented PTSD, any one could’ve helped. Moreover, research suggested some people could have a predisposition for it. Sam might just have lucky DNA.

And no illness of any kind could develop after he got the healing power, so he didn’t have to worry about future symptoms.

“To be honest, I’m surprised more hunters _don’t_ have it,” Frank continued. “You watch people die. You get covered in the worst things imaginable. And you are always half a step away from something trying to kill you.” He paused. Then, “Being exposed to it younger must be even worse.”

Cas ran the water and splashed his face. “You could be right.”

If Dean had PTSD, then perhaps the problem with treatment was a misunderstanding of what was needed. Maybe Sam couldn’t fix him because he was trying to treat the wrong condition. But he couldn’t be sure. Mental illness was very different from physical illness. It might not be fully treatable with healing energy.

When Cas looked back at the group, he found them in very different positions. Rosa, Ellen, and Bobby had taken seats at the table, while Frank leaned against a wall. They seemed downtrodden now. Whatever they thought was going on, they didn’t expect a primer on severe psychological problems. And they certainly didn’t like hearing that Dean, a friend and/or family member to each of them, was in such dire circumstances. Over something they were not equipped to fight.

“What can we do to help?” Rosa asked inevitably.

“I don’t know. Just, give him space when he needs it. Try not to make a big deal out of, uh, any symptoms.” He felt like shit for talking about something so personal without the person in question’s permission. But if getting everybody on the same page would help, then he had to do it. “And just keep caring about him, you know?”

Rosa sensed his distress. She got up and walked over to him. “You got it.”

The others nodded in agreement. Bobby spoke for them. “We can take the work off of him, too, if you think that’ll help. Boy doesn’t need to worry about all this on top of whatever he’s goin’ through.”

“It might be a good distraction, though,” Frank pointed out.

They both had excellent points. But Cas knew he would be the deciding vote, since they apparently considered him the resident expert on Dean. “I think we’ll let him choose how much work he wants to do, and if it seems like too much, I’ll talk to him.”

Another round of nods. Rosa hugged him—as above all the others she understood that he, too, was having a hard time—and Ellen began making tea for anyone who wanted it. The witch lingered at his side as the other men departed for the research room. “I’ll look through my books, see if there isn’t something that can at least sooth the pain. A remedy or a spell.”

“Is there anything you think witchcraft can’t fix?” came from Ellen.

“Nothing new under the sun. Magic has been around a very long time. Probably as long as people have. If a problem exists, someone or many someones have tried to solve it using magic.” She picked a bag of cinnamon plum tea from Ellen’s selection. “The only real questions are, do I have evidence of it, and did it work.”

“And can you replicate it,” Cas added.

She shrugged. “I don’t usually have a problem with that. Strange or extinct ingredients are rarely necessary.” She laughed softly. “And half the time you don’t even need to use the original language. Just a proper translation. I can do most things with a knife, a bowl of water, and a candle.”

But Ellen had been paying attention. Just because she kept to the sidelines didn’t mean she couldn’t know everything going on in her house. “And angel power.”

Rosa flashed a big smile and nodded dramatically. “That’s the oomph. You gotta get the energy from somewhere. Witches have a bad rap because a lot of them bargain for it from demons. But that’s only one very small source. In old times, most of it came from various gods, through dedicated worship. But there are stories of witches finding pools of raw energy just lying around. They’d tap into it. Build towns on top of it. Some of those places might even be big cities now. Ones that have _miraculously_ avoided major harm throughout millennia.”

The older woman poured hot water into a mug and pushed it toward Rosa, where she added her chosen tea. Ellen already knew that Cas preferred oolong—she picked some up on a whim a few months ago—so she made the beverage for him. Simple black tea was enough for her. Though, unlike the others, she added milk and sugar. “That’s quite a story.”

“Mine’s simpler.” She took a sip and grinned. Ellen’s small hoard of teas did not disappoint. “I have the energy already. I’ve been using it for magic since before I knew where it came from. I’d love to find one of those ancient places, though.”

Ellen noticed her delight at the drink and happily changed the subject. “I got good at making beverages, with no alcohol in ‘em.”

“ _Very_ good,” Rosa agreed.

Cas nodded and took a drink of his own tea.


	19. The Rescue Blues

Later than evening, Cas found both of the Winchesters passed out on the bed, in a loose spooning formation. By the timing, he imagined Sam had delivered at least one more dose of sedative. And in doing so, he tired himself substantially. The angel sighed and took the couch.

At around sunrise, he awoke to a small touch on his arm. It was Dean, looking down at him sleepily. “What are you doing over here?”

“Came in late. Didn’t want to wake you two up.” He squinted in the low light. He didn’t really want to be up this early, but given the circumstances, necessity required it. “How’d you sleep?”

Dean rubbed at his eyes. “Did you guys drug me?”

He blinked and looked over at Sam, who was still unconscious. “You were in a lot of pain. Really, terribly hurting. Sam couldn’t heal you, so he put you out. And then we carried you up here.” Cas rose partially from his position and stared up at him. “You were just blaming yourself for stuff that isn’t your fault, and neither of us could convince you otherwise.”

“You shouldn’t have—”

Cas shook his head. “Yes, we should have. You don’t have to live in pain all the time, Dean. You don’t have to feel like shit. We care about you too much to just let you suffer. I know it’s only a temporary fix, but—being so upset wasn’t helping you.”

Though he expected Dean to ask how many people knew about his breakdown, the question that came was far different. “Is—is this normal? What’s going on with me? I mean, is that how this works? I dunno. I didn’t just feel sad. I felt…” His voice trailed off.

“Afraid?”

His eyes widened. “Uh, yeah.”

“It’s normal,” Cas confirmed. “For PTSD.”

Dean’s face changed, not quite to anger but a sort of irritated disbelief. “What?”

“I think we misunderstood what’s going on. Sam’s not an expert on mental health, and honestly I’m only slightly better. I guess we misdiagnosed you,” he tried to sound as remorseful as he felt. “But it fits so much better. You had a panic attack, Dean. Something triggered you, and your brain sent you back to a bad place. Depression and sadness are symptoms. So is anxiety. And fear.”

After a long pause, “What—what thing caused it? You get PTSD when something happens to you.”

Cas gave a slow nod. “Sometimes it’s one thing. Sometimes it’s a lot of little things. With you, really it could be either. The fire. A bad hunt. Or just your whole upbringing. You were exposed to things someone so young should never have to see or deal with.”

He somewhat collapsed to a sitting position on the floor. “If it’s something from when I was a kid, why wouldn’t I have symptoms?”

The angel touched his cheek. “I think you did, Dean. Your bad sleeping. You protecting everyone. You never feel safe. Over time, it got worse because it wasn’t treated. And the more we talk about it, the more your brain opens the flood gates. The symptoms get worse as part of accepting that there was trauma. But holding it back won’t solve the problem.”

Dean covered his head with his arms and groaned. “And lemme guess, everyone knows.”

“Being sick isn’t shameful,” he insisted. “And it isn’t a sign of weakness either. No one thinks these things about you. They asked because they were concerned. And they helped me understand what’s really wrong, which might mean we can help you a lot faster.” He straightened in his seat. “When Sam wakes up, I’m gonna tell him. Or you can. But then he can research it for himself and try to heal you the right way. Make you feel better.”

“What if the healing doesn’t work again?”

“Then we’ll try again. And again. Until we get it right. And we’ll look into other options if we have to. You’ll have everyone’s support all the way. You may feel alone, but you’re not.” He took Dean’s hand. “Come sit with me.” When Dean took a seat on the couch, he held onto the angel’s knee, near the inner part of his thigh. A vulnerable posture he usually reserved for Sam. Cas wrapped his arms around him. “We will _always_ fight for you.”

Dean would’ve started crying again, but the lingering effects of being knocked out seemed to prevent it. He just felt groggy and drained. Getting so worked up exhausted him, too. He didn’t even do anything, and yet—it wore him out. “I didn’t feel like this upstairs,” he spoke through the fog.

Nodding, Cas kissed his shoulder. “There’s no pain in the Kingdom. If you were in a wheelchair, you’d walk.” Disability only existed insofar as a person kept it as part of their identity. Many deaf people, for instance, continued to be deaf in Heaven, but only because it didn’t bother them. What others saw as illness was culture and community to them, and to take it away would be to inflict pain. The option was always there, though. If someone wanted to hear, if only for a little while, they could, with a single thought.

PTSD and most mental illness had no upside. It was just deep, unrelenting pain, helped in life only through outside intervention. Medicine. Therapy. Procedures. And most earthly approaches fell short, with a lot of patients getting limited help if any at all. Theoretically, a full angel could simply take it away, but Cas had no memory of one ever doing so.

“We can find a solution here, though,” he assured him. “We don’t have to go back for you to get better.”

Cas knew from his classes that a lot of people with untreated PTSD didn’t make it very long. They turned to alcohol or drugs—or they killed themselves. It was a really common symptom of the illness. And one Cas would labor intensely to avoid with Dean. They might decide as a group to go back, eventually, but he thought his companion deserved to live life without this sword hanging over him. He deserved Heaven on Earth.

“We can’t give up, Dean.”

The older Winchester didn’t know if he could commit to that. When one of those attacks happened, he felt like the world was ending. Really ending. He had no control. No presence of mind. Just wave after wave of abject sadness and fear and emotional paralysis. Giving up was the only thought he had in those moments. He just wanted relief.

A small moan from the other side of the room signaled Sam waking up. With messy hair and a sleepy expression, he looked over at his lovers. “Everything okay?”

Cas shook his head. But Dean was the one who answered. “I don’t know.”

Over the next twenty minutes or so, the angel explained the new diagnosis and what he thought that meant in terms of healing. Treating the depression was only part of the deal. Dean’s fear response was broken. He would be afraid of things that didn’t really matter and unafraid in perilous scenarios. He was constantly alert, always looking for danger. The panic attacks were a buildup of easily a dozen symptoms. When they got too much, he broke down.

Cas held Dean close as he explained. He knew it wasn’t easy to hear. His love thought these things were, at best, character flaws and, at worst, proof he had failed as a person. He couldn’t really see that he wasn’t responsible for any of it.

“You can’t get rid of what happened,” Dean eventually pointed out. Whatever triggered this, what’s done was done.

Sam moved over to the two of them. He lifted Dean’s head and kissed him gently. “No, we can’t. But we can help you recover. We can change the way you react to things, and we can stop the attacks.”

Honestly, Dean wasn’t sure they could do any of that. “I need some air.” He got up suddenly and paused only to touch the jawlines of his companions. In just a pair of sweatpants, he left the room. Cas could hear footsteps on the stairs.

Sam moved to go after him, but the angel grabbed his arm. “Just—just give him some space, okay? This has to be awful for him.”

“I’m worried.” The healer had to cover his mouth to prevent a sob from escaping.

“I know. I am, too. But he’s strong. He just needs time to work through all this. If that’s what he wants right now, then we have to hang back.” Cas didn’t like the idea of leaving Dean alone, either. But in a house full of people, he wouldn’t really be by himself. And he’d never take one of Bobby’s vehicles without asking.

Sam’s first instinct was always to go to him. His presence alone seemed to help a little. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to leave the room and find him.

In the end, Cas physically held him in place. They sat together for about half an hour before starting their day.

***

Dean couldn’t get far. In an attempt to interact with no one, he ended up on the front porch. He folded himself into the far corner, put his bare feet up on the railing, and tucked his knees against his chest. He hid his face in his arms and wept.

When he finally came back to himself, it’d been at least an hour. It felt like it took all morning. His face was red and wet, and his head pounded. Getting it all out didn’t really help. He calmed, but he had no further clarity on the situation. There were literally thousands of moments that could have got him here. He had no idea which one did the trick or even if there was a singular instant when he broke. He wiped the tears away from his cheeks and sniffed. He found some tissues in the pockets of his pants and blew his nose.

In the distance, he heard birds chirping. It was a beautiful day. Blue sky. A little cold—especially since he wasn’t wearing a shirt—but otherwise peaceful. He didn’t know why, but he expected it to be ugly out, to look something like how he felt. But rain and darkness might’ve just made him feel worse.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. Staring out at the scrap metal and cars, he unfocused his eyes and distanced himself from everything. For a little while, he felt and thought nothing at all.

The sound of the door opening woke him from his stupor. Dean knew it wasn’t Sam or Cas. He didn’t have time to compose himself, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be convincing.

At least it wasn’t Bobby or Frank. Rosa, ever the nosey roommate, poked her head through the doorway and looked him over. “You look like shit,” she pointed out. That was practically her catch phrase. But she followed it up with something a little more caring. “How long have you been out here?”

He glanced at her but then turned away. He didn’t feel like talking.

“That long, huh.” She took a seat nearby and kept her eyes on him. When he still didn’t say anything, she tugged on his pants. “Are those Sam’s? Not gonna lie, they’re a bit big on you.” Falling off, actually, but she wasn’t there to embarrass him.

Still nothing. He ignored her. Not in an angry way, though. Just—like he was in a different world.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet have you?” She produced a granola bar, covered in chocolate, and pointed it at him. “They got eggs inside, but I don’t think you really wanna be there, do you?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said in barely above a whisper.

She shrugged. “Think of it like medicine.”

He glared at her but reluctantly accepted the offering. He opened it and took a bite. Grimacing, “These things are awful. Why would anybody eat these when other food exists?”

Rosa had to laugh. There was the Dean she knew. Not the huddled mass of flesh she heard crying from the front room. She waited until he was done wailing to make an appearance. It mortified him to show emotion, especially if he appeared weak or out of control. She could respect that. But he still needed help. Rosa could only assume that he’d purposefully sent his lovers away, or else they’d be here already. She wouldn’t be swayed so easily.

“Want me to make you a plate? I’ll even bring it out here.”

He pondered the snack she provided and heard his stomach growl. His head didn’t really want food, but his body sure as hell did. After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

Dean sat in silence until she returned, a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast. She added a single small slice of cantaloupe on the outskirts of the mountain of food. For nutrition. He dug in as she returned to her seat.

He felt nauseous about a third of the way in, and sat there, staring at the rest of it in defeat. Rosa swiped a piece of buttery toast. She spoke past the food: “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The witch leaned in a little too close to him. “I found something that might help you.”

“A spell?”

She shook her head. Out from her shirt pocket came a small pill bottle. She pressed it into his hand. “This is normal people magic.”

“Alpra—what?” He didn’t recognize the medication, and the name on the bottle wasn’t Rosa’s or anyone he knew.

She seemed amused with herself as she watched him try to figure it out. Eventually, “Alprazolam. It’s the generic name for Xanax.”

“What? No, I’m not taking these.” He shoved the bottle back into her hand. “Fuck no.”

Rosa sighed. “You’re too stubborn for your own damn good, you know that? This is the same shit your brother’s been doing. Except you won’t be unconscious for the rest of the day. It’s a sedative. You pop one of these every time a panic attack starts, and it’ll end a lot quicker. Calm you down. Lets you deal with things instead of just getting mauled by them.”

“I don’t wanna be drugged, and aren’t they addictive? Last thing I need is to turn into a junkie on top of everything else.”

“Listen.” She backed off a little but made sure the bottle stayed in view. “It’s the smallest dose available. Like having a couple drinks without the whole ‘getting sad’ thing. You’re not gonna get addicted if you only take them when you’re having a flare up. And more importantly, there aren’t enough in there for you to check out completely, either.”

He froze. He didn’t have a good reply to that, and especially not one that would be believable.

“I know you’re thinking about it. You have to be. Coming back here must’ve been like walking into a familiar room only to get a sledgehammer in the face.” She tossed the bottle into his lap this time. “But you can’t because you know there’s something going on here, and you know Sam and Cas don’t really wanna leave yet. So, you need to find a way to pull it together. Your healer’s gonna do all he can, but you gotta participate. You wanna show everybody how strong you are? Then get over it and help yourself.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her but picked up the bottle and examined its contents. A couple dozen little white pills. “Why do you even have these?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Coworker needed some cash.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

She snorted. “All my friends died.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve read that just having these things as an option can help decrease the amount of attacks. Once you know they can stop them, _you_ learn to stop them. Like having a safety net. Either way, you get a ton of control back.” She stood suddenly. “Just try it once. Next time you start freaking out. Take one, and see what happens. If it helps, then you have something new at your disposal. If it doesn’t, toss ‘em.”

Before she could leave, he had one last question. “Did they help you sleep?”

She shook her head and opened the door. “Not really.”


	20. Free Falling

Dean didn’t go back inside until around noon. He deposited the abandoned portions of his breakfast into the trash in the kitchen before wandering upstairs for a shower. It took more effort than expected to accomplish even the simplest of cleaning and self-maintenance. To the point that he didn’t bother shaving that day. When he returned to the room for fresh clothes, it was empty. Part of him wished he’d run into one or both of his companions. The other part was glad he didn’t have to deal with their concerns about him. He didn’t like to see them worry, but he could do nothing to stop it.

He really was completely vulnerable now. He had no control. He couldn’t just will himself to get better or work through it. The illness was part of him. It invaded areas of his consciousness and personality in ways that terrified him. He didn’t know where he ended and it began. His whole existence could be called into question. If he had this for years—decades—then how much of himself was really him? What was Dean and what was PTSD?

Would he even recognize himself without it? Would Sam and Cas have the same person? Would they love him?

Through the spiral of increasingly darker thinking, Dean pulled back. Of course they would. The disease wanted him to think that he couldn’t live without it, but he knew he could. In Heaven, he did. Granted, he still had some of the same inclinations that could easily be caused by the disease, paradise removed the pain. Told him not to worry. _All was well now. Look at the loves of your life. Look how much they love you. You can go anywhere and have anything you want. There’s nothing to be afraid of._

While he couldn’t feel that way here, he reminded himself of how it felt. He put words to the feelings that comforted him there. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said to the empty room. “You don’t have to worry.” Slowly, he calmed down and avoided another attack. But it was close. He could feel it coming on like heartburn. Or maybe like being drowned. The moment water enters the lungs. He wouldn’t be able to stop it then. But he could try to swim for safety beforehand.

Or get a life vest.

He pulled the bottle from a pocket in his borrowed pair of sweatpants before discarding the garment. Dean hated— _hated_ —the idea of drugging himself every time he got too sad or anxious. Hell, he didn’t even like taking cold medicine. Before he could heal, Sam usually got tired of his whining and made him take something. At least he knew that would help him get better, usually by letting him rest. But the happy pills? They wouldn’t treat this. They would just slow down or temporarily stop one of the symptoms.

It would probably make him feel better, though, if only for a short time. Like cough syrup. And Rosa was right. Maybe he could get some control back. Not feel so damn helpless.

While it seemed like he might be able to talk himself down from it next time, if he couldn’t? Having these pills handy could do the trick. And it would stop Sam from knocking him out. He liked that even less than the idea of sedatives. It took a lot of fear for his soulmate to wanna do that, especially without Dean’s permission. And it drained him. He would never regain enough strength to perform another healing attempt if he kept dumping all his energy.

So, he had his answer, then. Use the pills until something else could actually fix him—or at least try. But he planned to wait until he absolutely needed them. And until then, he wasn’t planning on broadcasting it to anyone, even the people he cared about the most. If it didn’t work, he couldn’t let them see how desperate he was.

His clothing choices reflected a need to keep a pill bottle on him, at all times if necessary. He chose a slightly unusual combination of jeans, a sleeveless undershirt, and a zipper-down sweatshirt. It would look like he needed to feel comfortable. Overly so. And it would tell everybody that he wasn’t okay. But they already knew that. He had to accept that he wouldn’t pass for stable anytime soon. Having big pockets was more important to him than appearances. He slipped his secret into the right side of the sweatshirt, gripped it tightly, and headed for the stairs.

But he stopped. The pills made it sound like he had a rattle in his pocket. A dead give-away. Swiveling, he headed back into the bathroom. There, he found a couple of cotton balls, which he shoved into the bottle. A test walk back to the stairs proved reasonably noiseless. He breathed a sigh of relief and went down to the ground level.

In the kitchen, he found Cas washing dishes by himself. He seemed distant. Maybe even sad. He scrubbed the items with hardly any force and worked mechanically. He looked like Dean felt after his early morning crying session.

He approached slowly in bare feet but stopped short of touching him. Instead, he leaned against the counter and gripped the edge.

Cas stopped what he was doing and gently set a plate down in the drying rack. It took a moment to produce a smile, but he did, and then he turned toward Dean. “How are you doing?” he asked softly. But he looked tired. Stressed.

“This is hard on you,” he surmised.

The angel shook his head. “Sweetheart, it’s not even half as bad as what you’re going through. You know I’m just worried. Wish I could help more.” He dried his hands off with a towel and placed one on top of Dean’s. “So, how are you doing?”

Gulping, “Better. I mean, I guess, for now. I dunno.”

Cas took a step and kissed him on the cheek. “We’re here for you, when you need us.”

“Man, c’mon.” He lowered his voice a notch. “I always need you. I’m gonna always need you, Cas. Probably now more than ever.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, when you need time alone, it’s fine, and when you need to be with me or Sam, we’re here. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing. You have us. And neither of us care how much work or energy it takes to help you.”

Dean took hold of him at the shoulder and pressed his forehead into Cas’s temple. “Promise me that you won’t blame yourself if I don’t get better.”

“You’re gonna get better.”

“If I don’t,” he insisted, “or all we can do is manage it—you can’t blame yourself. And we can stay here as long as you want, no matter what happens.” We. As in all three of them. The pain felt insurmountable. But Dean would not accept his partners checking out early. Not again. It hurt too much to know they’d done it before, because of him. Because of a stupid fucking car crash. If he could control one thing, it would be this.

Cas’s heart broke a little. This was a confession, of sorts. Dean didn’t think he was going to beat this. He didn’t even want to try for very long. Heaven was undeniably an easier and more certain solution. But he knew his companions wanted their second chance. Their do-over. And he felt they deserved it. Which mean he felt guilty and was willing to be punished.

It was a different recital of the same script. Thinking everything was his fault.

The angel tried not to engage him in it this time. The conversation wouldn’t go anywhere, at least not for now. Dean wasn’t prepared to listen to any contradictions on this issue because PTSD spoke louder than either Sam or Cas could. Only treatment of the illness would break down this toxic thought process. So, he did damage control instead. “I promise,” he lied. And then some truth: “But we’re gonna make sure you get to be happy again.” Hopefully on Earth.

Of course, he wanted to stay here. To try again. To have another life. With Sam’s healing, they could continue on for a very long time. There was a looming problem somewhere on their horizon, but after? If they survived? How great would it be to pick up where they left off?

But not at Dean’s expense. That would be cruel. They would do whatever it took to get him better here. To at minimum decrease or eliminate his pain. To eradicate the problem entirely if they could. And if not? Then Earth wasn’t worth it. If they could go back to the Kingdom, they simply would. Together. He didn’t have to even ask Sam to know he agreed. He believed in mercy, in taking away pain. And he felt Dean’s the strongest. It was already unbearable for him. If he couldn’t find a way to treat his soulmate, he might insist.

Dean would hate it even more than their first suicides, but the Kingdom wouldn’t let him feel it too strongly. It would ease his mind. It would wrap him in a blanket of comfort and peacefulness. And they could certainly talk about it for as long as he wanted.

Cas knew he was getting ahead of himself. They hadn’t even tried to heal him with the new diagnosis in mind. Sam needed a few days to recover fully. But then? Then he would find a way to help, either temporarily or permanently. He would make Dean feel a thousand times better, right here in the mortal world.

Self-harm was the nuclear option. They’d barely started the war.

“End of the week, Sam’s healing is gonna be fully recharged, and we can try again, right?” Cas asked after a long pause. “There’s hope.”

Dean’s face said that he didn’t think it would work.

“You don’t even have to be optimistic. Just be patient. Just hold on.” Cas embraced him and held on as tightly as he could.

He buried his face in the angel’s hair. God, he always smelled perfect. It soothed him. “I will.”

***

It took some coaxing for Dean to fully join the land of the living—to at least sit in the research room with the others. Cas came in now and then to provide some basic information about resurrections and souls, but he otherwise stayed away, preferring to hang out with Ellen or do household chores. And his absence from the room meant that if Dean needed some attention, emotional or otherwise, he wouldn’t have to publicly ask the angel to leave with him.

He made a further daring decision, to sit immediately next to Sam and take up no pretenses of doing actual work. To be honest, he just wanted to be near him. He didn’t care if that meant sitting in silence while his soulmate worked. It didn’t even bother him that the others would see both how needy he’d become and how entangled the two truly were.

Sam understood without a single word spoken. He kissed Dean behind his ear and continued researching. Dean just sat there, occasionally glancing at the screen and holding onto that spot on the inner side of Sam’s knee.

No one asked him any questions or really involved him in the brief discussions. He knew they were thinking about him, about the illness, but they intentionally avoided the subject. Dean didn’t have the energy to bring it up, nor did he particularly want to. Slowly, it seemed they eventually forgot he was there and continued on with their research.

Apparently, the current working theory was that it could be a medium-grade demigod that wants them to perform some kind of important task. So, they focused on the ones that were known to bring people back from the dead. And they kept a list of unaccounted for deities. Ancient societies that most assuredly had gods, but ones that are fairly unknown. The two most recent adds? The Las Vegas and Valdivia peoples of Ecuador.

A little later in the afternoon, Bobby looked up from a fairly new-looking book. “Çatalhöyük,” he said with what everyone could only assume was perfect pronunciation. Since no one else knew how to spell it, Bobby wrote the word on the board.

“What is that?” Dean asked—his first contribution of the day.

Bobby cleared his throat. “It’s a giant city in Turkey, circa 7500 BC.”

“They’re creepy as fuck,” was Rosa’s addition. “They were around for almost two thousand years, and they all lived in houses accessed from the top. Like they walked on each other’s roofs. And they didn’t seem to have any government, but they didn’t kill each other, either.”

Frank snorted. “What’s so creepy about that?”

“Oh, they were also obsessed with death. They buried their loved ones in their own homes and probably kept them around a while before that. They used the skulls for rituals. Their houses are filled with bones and animal heads and shit. When a house fell down or needed to be replaced, they just built on top of the rubble.” She stood up, happy to be the center of attention. “And then they just disappeared.”

Bobby underlined the city name and turned toward the others. “There’s a lot of ways a civilization that old could end up dead. They lived in close quarters and didn’t have the best hygiene. Pick your favorite plague.”

But Rosa shook her head emphatically. “Then where are all the bodies? Thousands of people die in a short period of time, you run out of places to put them. I think it’s more likely they deserted or looked for greener pastures—though they sure as hell left a lot of stuff behind. Maybe something else happened.”

“Why did you think it might be helpful?” Sam intervened. “If not the disappearance, then what? The religion?” He wasn’t familiar with Çatalhöyük, but it sounded intriguing.

“Well, a lot of people think religion didn’t really show up until well after the city was gone. At least not anything organized. But belief? That’s another story. And obviously demigods predate the religions that popped up around them. If these people ran into a god, they’d probably fear it or be in awe of it. Could be why they picked that location and settled down with such a big population. And why they got along so well. They didn’t even need doctrine or temples. I bet they just _knew_ a higher being.”

Frank perked up. It was a decent theory, and the Middle East had such an amazing past. So much potential for religious ideation. So many different kinds of people and cultures with vastly different beliefs. While Çatalhöyük contained more mysteries than facts, it stood out even amongst a sea of fascinating prospects. “Nine thousand years old. What do we have to go on?”

The old hunter felt damn near giddy. “Well, for one, cities like this just didn’t exist back then, and they certainly weren’t covered in colorful art. But the most interesting shit is these two little figures the diggers found. One’s a woman sitting on a throne with some big cats as arm rests. Lions, I think. But the other one, now that has the same woman, but she’s facing one direction and then there’s a skeleton behind her. All the normals involved think it’s some symbolism about life—as in fertility—and death. I think they’re looking at it the wrong way.”

He drew a rough sketch of the object and pointed at the skeleton. “Start on this side. Death. Then spin it around, and you have life. And you can do it the other way, too. People live and then they die—and then maybe they live again.” He moved his marker over to the woman. “What if the reason they kept their dead uncles around is because they hoped she would bring them back? What if they’d seen it done before, maybe more than once?”

“It would explain why they found a deformed, diseased guy in with all the trash—which by the way they were a helluva lot more careful with then you’d think,” he continued. “That was a man who would be in terrible pain if he were brought back. So, they didn’t keep him for that. They probably didn’t even want it to happen by accident. But happy loved ones? It might be worth the smell if they suddenly kicked back into gear like nothing happened.”

“And then what, she killed them for it?” Rosa interjected.

Bobby shrugged. “Or she left them. Imagine sitting in your pit with a couple of rotting corpses, waiting for a miracle that doesn’t show. That hasn’t come to any of your friends or anyone you talk to. There are stories from generations ago, but no one can tell you it’s happened to them. Wouldn’t you give up, eventually? Bury your dead one final time and look for greener pastures?” He rested his arm on the back of the board, holding onto the top.

“Other settlements were popping up around the time these guys disappeared. Maybe they just moved. Forgot their idol and their drawings and their stories. I mean, it wouldn’t be surprising. Çatalhöyük predates the Pyramids, and it didn’t have a written language as far as I understand it. Since we don’t know a ton about Ancient Egyptians because they didn’t write everything down, the Çatal could easily have lost their own history. If they didn’t die off, they most likely merged with other cultures.”

Sam hated the idea of a whole culture just blinking out of existence. All that lost information. Life stories never told. Unique philosophies. Beauty. He knew it happened again and again throughout human history, often because of other humans, but still. He tried to imagine the city. As Bobby spoke, he found photos of the archeology sites. Vibrant paintings. Neatly kept houses. Bones stacked in small piles beneath the floors, like presents or offerings.

“Any chance we know the gal’s name?” Frank asked. “Seems kinda thin.”

Bobby shook his head. “We don’t even know what language they spoke. They’ve been digging at the site for decades, and they’re only about a tenth of the way done.”

“Do we know where they’re keeping that figurine? The one with two sides?” Rosa chimed in.

“The Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, I think,” answered Sam. He could find most things on the internet in the time it would take Bobby to switch to a different chapter. “It’s not listed directly, but the museum has the one with the throne, so it probably has both.”

Rosa stood up. She paced over to him and Dean and looked down. “Where is the museum?”

“Ankara, Turkey. It’s part of a castle.”

She was gone before he looked up from his screen.

Dean jumped. Not from the suddenness of a person vanishing before their eyes—God knows he’d done it himself a hundred times—but the sound. He was the only person there who could hear them. The wing beats. They announced the arrival and departure of any angel. Him, too. And they typically sounded like those of large birds. But not Rosa. Or any archangel. They had multiple wings, bigger ones. And the sound was loud, like hands clapping right next to his ear.

He didn’t expect her to just take off like that. Though it was certainly something Rosa would do. It startled him. Genuinely made him jump.

“Jesus,” they heard from Frank. “She just did the thing, didn’t she?”

Sam’s hand found the back of Dean’s neck and softly rested there. He wouldn’t openly acknowledge the reaction, but he _would_ make sure his soulmate knew he wasn’t alone. In turn, Dean looked over at him and flashed an appreciative, albeit muted, smile.

Before the Winchesters could explain what they knew for certain she was doing, Rosa returned—startling Dean once more. In one hand, she held a couple of artifacts, pressed close to her chest. They were the two Bobby described. The other arm lay limp at her side. Blood dripped from a rag wrapped around her knuckles. When she saw that Sam noticed the wound, “Glass wouldn’t break all the way with vibration. Had to go old school.”

She passed the figures off to Bobby for the time being. The healer set aside his laptop, kissed Dean on the cheek, and stood. He mended her cuts and patted her arm. “Thief,” he teased. But it might be more like borrowing. They could always return the items after they were no longer needed, and the museum would just have to pay for the broken case.

Provided that they survived whatever was coming.

He tried not to think about it.

“I’m gonna use those to try and contact the creature,” she explained simply. “If you would like me to do it outside the house, I can.”

“But it’s better if we’re there,” Dean added what she was already thinking. “So the thing knows why you’re calling.”

She nodded. “And it will be less likely to try and kill me. If this god is responsible, and it needs you guys, then it won’t flatten the area when it sees you.”

Bobby didn’t like the idea, however. “That’s reckless, even for you, girl. This ain’t like summoning a demon. We have no protections. Nothing to stop this thing.” No way to stop it from murdering everyone and doing so with a smile.

Rosa shook her head, unfazed. “We could wait until it finds us.”

“If this isn’t the culprit, you could bring the wrong damn thing here, and we’d have another powerful shithead to deal with,” the old hunter retorted, raising his voice. “Demigods are not something you take lightly.” He knew from experience. One damn near killed most of the people in this room.

“Photos then. I need photos of all three of you.” She gestured vaguely toward Sam and Dean.

That, Bobby could agree to. He had a stack of polaroids upstairs that he forgot to give back. “Hold on.” He left to retrieve them from the chest that sat at the foot of his bed. He returned quickly and handed them over to the witch.

Rosa grinned. She remembered these.


	21. O Death

While the circumstances that resulted in turning them over to Bobby were terrible, the moments captured were all sweet. Happy. Only one, a candid shot of Dean at his workbench, showed any hint of a problem. There was a sort of sadness photos could catch if taken right before the person decided on an appropriate reaction. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed it before.

The others were the kind of pictures lovers took of each other. Not pornographic, but intimate. Her favorite one featured Cas at the farmer’s market, smiling back at Sam. The healer took easily two-thirds of the photos. There was a great one of him treating a patient, who was just out of frame, and another of Dean leaning out of his car. He had a big smile. She selected those three for later use.

All of the pictures came from Philadelphia. Their home. Even Rosa felt incredibly nostalgic for that time. The house. The life. The routine. She missed it.

Rosa passed the remaining photos to Dean. She thought he might like to look through them. If she survived the encounter with an ancient god, she’d provide the other three, as well. “Give me a day or so to get ready. Then I’ll find an open field somewhere.” She grabbed her favorite spell book and promptly left the room. Nothing they could argue would stop her from taking the next steps.

“Okay then.” Bobby sighed. He carefully placed the ancient art on his desk and gave them a closer inspection. Baked clay. The head and part of the side of the throne one were new, having been added by restorers, probably based on other similar figures. The other was left partially intact, with a voluptuous woman on one side and a skeleton or emaciated figure on the other. The latter seemed to protrude from her back. He silently worried that the naked lady might just be a god of death. Maybe the Çatal simply worshiped the dead.

But he wasn’t exactly an expert on Neolithic Turkey. Nor could he claim to know damn near anything about 9,000-year-old cultures or what might go through the heads of people living in them.

His original theory was just as good as any. That the others agreed with it helped assuage his fears. And the most powerful weapon in the house was Rosa. She would throw any number of spells at whatever showed up, and she could fight it directly with her extra abilities. Or she could run faster and farther away than any of them in no time at all.

But the others understood the risks just as much, and they knew that, more than anyone, Cas would not like this plan. “Which one of us tells him?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam didn’t really want to, but it would be better if he did. His soulmate had enough on his mind. “I will.”

The exchange was not lost on Frank. He studied the two. The subtle mannerisms. The wordless communication. They seamlessly compensated for each other. When one was sick, the other took the lead. Almost like they were one unit. One person. Their independent relationships with Castiel were similar and perhaps equally enthusiastic—but not quite the same. This was something else entirely, beyond what had been described to him. They said soulmates, but what did that really mean?

When Sam got up to explain Rosa’s plan to the angel, Bobby also left, to attend an alcoholics support meeting. Leaving Frank alone with Dean.

He told himself to tread lightly. Not only was he forbidden from even appearing to be negative about the trio’s situation, but he knew well that the man who sat in the corner had enough problems without him contributing to them. And anyway, the longer he stayed here, the more Frank saw Dean as a friend.

“What’s it like, being that close to someone?” his voice pierced through the empty room.

Dean’s whole body tensed. God, he really didn’t wanna talk about anything, let alone that. But he couldn’t exactly make a run for it. Nor did he have a good excuse not to answer. “Uh, I guess it’s like feeling safe, even when you aren’t.” His illness made him never truly feel safe—and that symptom was worse now than ever—but his bond with Sam helped. It always helped. He saw himself as the protector, prided himself in doing the protecting. But the stability on which he functioned didn’t come from himself. It came from Sam, and then later Cas, too.

“That’s one hell of a benefit.” Frank couldn’t say that any person had even come close to making him feel like that. A gun might. Being in a room full of cops he knew and respected. But even then, his confidence in those were shattered with the arrival of that creature.

“It’s more of a side effect, I think.” He breathed out and shook his head. “Man, why do you wanna know about this?” Dean didn’t even like talking about his soulmate bond with Bobby, who had much more time to get used to them and to see what they had was genuine. To watch, at a distance, what their love was really about. Couldn’t this guy just drop it?

Frank shrugged. “I’m tired of researching. We’ve been doing this for more than a week straight. Shit, I really hope your friend gets us some answers, ‘cause we’re running out of books.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

When he looked directly at Dean, he saw a painfully serious expression. Defensiveness. With a heavy dose of emotional exhaustion. “I’ve never seen anything like the two of you. Not anywhere. Now, I’ve been seeing a lot of new stuff lately. Angels. Demonless magic. But this one is interesting because nothing crazy seems to be involved. It’s just unique. Worth noticing.”

He fidgeted in place. “Yeah, maybe.”

Frank stood and walked over to Dean. He reached into his back pocket before producing a leather-clad flask that he’d picked up in town a few days earlier. “I know I’m not supposed to have this here, but you look like you could use it.” He offered the container. Dean heard sloshing against metal.

Though he felt like fleeing, Dean welcomed the chance to self-medicate with something familiar. He took the gift, opened the top, and took a long swig. Bourbon. High proof. A fairly expensive brand. The strength of it caught him off-guard, and he coughed. Handing it back, “You have good taste.”

The old hunter let out a big, bellowing laugh. He crouched down to Dean’s level. “I think you should hold onto that safe feeling. It’s special.”

Dean squinted at him, but gave a nod. Frank patted his shoulder. He got up and left the room.

***

By the time Dean made his way to his companions, they were fighting. Not the sort of screaming most turbulent couples did, but it was an argument nonetheless.

“We _can’t_ ,” Cas insisted. He’d repeated the phrase at least a dozen times so far, and he was prepared to continue. “We have to tell her no. We have to stop her. _We can’t let her do this._ ”

Sam patiently stood his ground. “It might be the only way we find out why we’re here, Cas.”

“Who cares? It’s not worth her life! It’s not worth bringing a random demigod into this, based on spotty information and hunches! We don’t even know, what might happen to her if she dies, and she can’t heal herself. Sam, I—” his yelling turned to distress, “We can’t let her get hurt because of us, okay? I can’t let her.”

The healer took hold of him by both shoulders. “Cas, it was her idea. She wants to do it. She knows she can handle it. And _we_ know she can handle it. I know you’re worried but—”

“I don’t think there’s anything we could do to stop her,” Dean said in a calm tone.

His two lovers turned in unison, and he could see tears on the angel’s face. “We have to try,” he replied weakly.

Dean shook his head. “It won’t help. You know it won’t.”

He looked back at Sam for confirmation, but he simply nodded. “She’s pretty stubborn, Cas.”

“More than I am,” Dean agreed.

Cas hung his head. “She could die. She could die for us.”

Sam ran his hand through his love’s hair. He understood the connotation, that they were already on borrowed time. That their own deaths (this time) would not make much difference in the world, while Rosa’s would change a great deal. She might—or might not—have a predetermined spot in Heaven, or she could simply become a partially powered angel. None of them knew the answer to that. Rosa was the only true hybrid. There weren’t any rules for her condition.

And of course, a lot of demigods could destroy the actual energy of a person, too, which meant no afterlife at all.

Moreover, none of them wanted to see her get hurt. She was their friend. Cas adored her. She helped him die when he needed to, so now he wanted to keep her alive. But going with her was out of the question. Bobby would lock them in the basement— _with_ angel sigils to stop Dean from flying—before he’d let the trio get involved with something so reckless. He hadn’t put his foot down much since they got here, but on this subject, he made himself clear.

The only one that could really aid her was Sam, as he could heal. But not at the rate of damage a god could inflict. And anyway, he didn’t particularly want to go. By then, his power should be completely recharged, which meant he could attempt another battle against Dean’s poor mental health. With some left over, should Rosa return with injuries. If he died there, he wouldn’t be able to help anyone.

Sam kissed the angel on his forehead. Even their most heated arguments ended much like this. Talking it out. Making up. Tenderly piecing things together again. Dean watched them mend before his eyes as the fight fizzled away.

“She’s got this,” the healer said just loud enough for all three to hear. “We can have faith in that.”

And pray for the best possible outcome. Rosa would need it.

***

It took about a day and a half to properly research the spells she would use. A third of them would be needed just to talk to it, as it spoke a dead language no living human knew. And while Cas may have learned it, if only briefly, he no longer remembered the words or anything else about the culture. So, she needed a spell to make her statements universal, something to help her elaborate on concepts that could be foreign to the deity, one to understand any response, and a finale to fortify the others.

Additionally, she chose a series of spells to summon the creature in a non-aggressive way. Unlike with Anguish, Rosa had to treat her subject more like a dignitary on an important phone call than a dangerous monster—even if it was one. She could not afford to try and immediately hold it in place. That might be seen as a threat or, at minimum, offensive. She had to make it appear as though she simply wanted to talk to this god, and that she felt honored to do so.

But Rosa would not, under any circumstances, go in protectionless. She planned to make a large circle for her quarry to arrive in, and a smaller one for herself. She would protect that bubble from intrusion with three different shielding spells. And while they would not be active at first, she could mainline her power to them in an instant should things go awry. Her ability to push on things with a thought could also save her some precious seconds, which she could then use to skip town.

Notably absent would be her sword, an implement she preferred to keep on her at all times. No visible weapons. Not even an aggressive posture. She would take only herself and the items needed to perform her spells.

And the figures. She would use them at first to connect to the deity, like having the earthly possessions of a ghost. And then she would offer them as gifts, along with a handful of foods from the time period and location in which the god was worshipped. Fresh peas, almonds, and pistachios. She also procured a spool of high-quality thread made from wool, since the culture kept domesticated sheep. These she would add to a makeshift altar, placed directly between herself and whatever showed up. As a final touch, she planned to adorn it with flowers and reeds native to the area at the time.

Obtaining the items proved easier than going to a grocery store. She simply found where they would be, went there, and took them. The flowers were given special care so as not to be bruised or damaged.

She thought about performing the spell in Turkey, as close to the site as possible. But it was an active archeological dig, and she would easily be seen on the flat plains nearby. Instead, she chose a similar climate a little closer to home. Montana. Specifically a ranch so big it was unlikely she would be disturbed.

Once she had everything ready—and carefully packed for transport—Rosa waited until morning of the next day.

She grabbed some breakfast first. It was just toast and butter, since her nerves prevented the consumption of anything flavorful. But she had to eat. Her power relied on a healthy body. And what morning would be complete without a strong cup of tea? As she ate, she spoke to no one. She wasn’t interested in their opinions.

Except for Cas, who showed up on the periphery as she finished her meal. “Please don’t do this,” he said in a desperate tone. “I don’t want you to do this.”

“I know, but I have to. I _want_ to. We need answers, and I’m going to get them.” She stood up and brought her plate over to the sink. Gulping down the rest of her tea, she set the mug on the counter. “You would do something a thousand times more dangerous if it meant saving Sam and Dean. This isn’t much different. Now I’m going to help all three of you.”

He looked like a lost puppy. Sad and directionless. “It’s not worth you getting hurt.”

“Who said I was gonna get hurt?” Rosa could fake confidence better than anyone. She strode over to her mentor and hugged him. “I know what I’m doing. I have protections for my protections. And we have no reason to believe this thing will even show or be hostile if it does. Hell, we might make a new friend.”

Cas wasn’t convinced in the slightest, but she didn’t really need him to be. She disliked seeing him upset, of course. But her mission was more important. With a smile, she picked up the backpack that contained everything she needed.

“See you in a little while.”

Before he could respond, Rosa was in Montana.

She’d used aerial maps to find this location. It was at least a mile away from the nearest road, three times as far from any buildings. A pasture for cattle. She scared a bull upon landing, and it ran off toward the horizon. She took a moment to check for excrement before setting up her circles.

For the big one, she used white spray paint and tried to make it as perfectly round as possible. The area wasn’t meant to contain the god. It was a big welcome sign. Her smaller circle, on the other hand, was drawn in rock salt. A sort of universal deterrent. It might not have any effect, but she thought it was worth the try. Then came the altar. A borrowed wooden step stool provided the base. She placed the food in a small tray and aligned the figurines behind it. On second thought, the reeds went under the depictions, to hold them down against the heavy breeze. She used the tray to pin the flowers, which she brought in Tupperware containers.

In lieu of a candle, she produced a small oil lamp with a glass protection for the flame. The fire was more important than wax. It focused spells, concentrated the intent behind them. And the lamp wouldn’t go out from the wind. She sat cross-legged in the salt. Her favorite black scrying bowl wasn’t a necessity here, but she felt safer with it. She filled it halfway with bottled water and balanced it in her lap like she’d done hundreds of times before.

The photographs were more of an insurance policy. Rosa removed them from her front pocket and held them against the bowl. She left her borrowed athame in the backpack, out of sight for fear it might be misinterpreted as a weapon.

Clearing her throat, she began setting up the various language spells, then the protections, and finally, the summoning.

As she spoke, the translators echoed and whispered in her ears. A thousand languages or more uttered all at once. Not every one of them sounded like her own voice, and Rosa suspected that she might be receiving help from spirits. So long as they stuck to the spell and didn’t get handsy, she welcomed the aid. “God of Çatalhöyük, I call upon you. Keeper of life and death. Worshipped for your strength and power.” It never hurt to suck up a little. “Great one of Çatal, will you come to feast with me? Great deity of—”

The ground rumbled. Rosa looked around but she saw nothing. She tried to stay calm. “Is it the ancient god of Çatalhöyük that has come?”

As the trembling increased, a small hill appeared in the center of the circle. Slowly, a mass broke through the ground and rose from the dirt until it resembled a large man, covered in mud, and bent over so that the face could not be seen. She looked straight at it instead of using the bowl. Dark water and averted eyes couldn’t protect her from this.

The fact that it wasn’t a curvy woman did not go unnoticed.

As the creature’s shoulders heaved, she noticed that the arms went all the way down to the ground like roots and raised soil took the place where feet belonged. This was undoubtedly an Earth-based god. An elemental. There were hundreds of these, seemingly forged with the basic matter of the universe. But their frequency said nothing of individual strengths and quirks. Each was different. Some dangerous, some loving. Many had no religion at all and never did. They saw no need for it. Others were the basis for sizable faiths still worshiped today.

She had never met one before, but she knew the stories. Her friends clashed with a water goddess of extreme power before she knew them, and it nearly destroyed everything. With glee.

The voice that confronted her sounded like he spoke backwards and forwards at the same time. It probably wasn’t speaking English, but her spells performed as intended. “That is not its name.”

No, it wasn’t. “Çatalhöyük” was what archeologists called it. Literally the Turkish words for “fork” and “mound.” They knew nothing of the original language, so they couldn’t possibly have a real name. But intent was what drove magic. She knew what Çatalhöyük was, where it was. She memorized the pictures, especially the art. It was the place she asked for. The name just solidified what she meant.

“What was it called?” she asked carefully.

“Heart of Clay.” A rough translation, clearly, but one that made sense. “Built where water and earth entwine.” They had a literal and figurative understanding of clay. A very old idea about where people come from. Constructed from the earth itself.

It wasn’t true, of course. At least not in the direct sense. Evolution made humankind. It developed from a long line of increasingly smarter mammals. All the way back to single-celled organisms, which, admittedly, lived a near-invisible existence in dirt and needed water to survive. In that way, humans did essentially come from mud.

“Are you the god of clay?” she asked. The words Rosa spoke had to be simple and clear, since the old vocabulary was probably much smaller than in English. By the pull on her power, this creature either couldn’t translate for itself or didn’t want to.

The deity stood absolutely motionless, save for some dripping of dirty water. It made noises, like gibberish spoken while exhaling. Then, “I am life. From me they spring, to me they return.”

“What do you call yourself?” she pressed. “What did the people in Heart of Clay call you?”

“Father.” There was a pause as it seemed to consider the question further. “When they had no need of him, I became anew. And they called me Mother. I am also called the Living Tree.”

_The Tree of Life?_

Rosa raised an eyebrow. So perhaps this _was_ the idol depicted in those small shrines. When being a patriarch lost favor, this creature simply changed its appearance. The Çatal probably thought it was two different gods. Or some kind of shapeshifter. “And they worshiped you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The god seemed to twist its body slightly, and Rosa thought she could make out the barest hints of eye sockets. Not eyes. Just holes where they should be. “I control death where they cannot.” Before she could reply, the creature perked up further. And it changed the subject. “What thing are you?”


	22. The Dreaming Tree

“I am the fruit of creation. God and human combined.” Kinda. “Mortal and immortal.”

“Are you worshipped?”

“Feared.”

“Why am I called to this place?”

An inevitable question, one for which Rosa rehearsed the answer. “Three men died, and then they returned to life long after their deaths. Can you do this? Can you return the dead to the living?”

“Yes.”

Taking a calculated risk, she set her bowl aside, stood, and walked over to the creature. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a human-like skeleton, dripping and oozing with mud. At the base, however, it was more like a tree. It smelled like fresh rain and potting soil. “You did this for the people at Heart of Clay?”

It turned toward her and stared—without eyes but staring nonetheless—into her. “And many others.”

She held up the photos of her friends. “Did you do it for them?”

The god took an agonizingly long amount of time to answer. Perhaps it didn’t understand the pictures at first, or it was fascinated by them. It didn’t really have facial features or expressions, so she couldn’t tell at all what it was thinking. Eventually, “Yes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She tried not to show relief, but some of it probably escaped her control. This deity was dangerous, yet it didn’t feel evil. Or even particularly irritated with the questioning. It just seemed like a very powerful force that maybe enjoyed attention now and then. “Why them?”

The ground trembled a little, and for a brief moment Rosa worried she’d made a grave error. But the creature did not change or attack or even get angry. “I cannot create my own kind, and our numbers decrease with each passing year. Few remain. I am one of the last.” It contorted and twisted its body before lowering its voice. “I need the one who heals.”

“To cure your people?” She highly doubted his healing power could be effective on demigods. It simply wasn’t strong enough.

“No. A human. A child between life and death knows how to return my kin. The healer can make it speak, make it say how we can survive.”

“Why bring the others?”

“The healer does not heal without them.”

Fair enough. He would be devastated to return alone, cut off from his soulmate and angel. For him to work properly, he needed their support. As to why Sam? Rosa strongly suspected that this god only resurrected normal living things. While Sam’s gift made him strange, and the other two were just as unnatural if not more, he inhabited a normal human body. All three of them did. So, they could be brought back where, for example, a truly dead angel couldn’t.

“Where is the child?”

The god lifted its head to look down at her. “I do not know. It is hidden. It has knowledge humans do not possess, but it is one. The Other does not wish for it to be found.”

It? So, the Living Tree didn’t even know the kid’s gender or likely anything about him or her. “What is the Other?”

“It brings only sadness and misfortune. It loves the moment of death and cares not for the cycle of life.” The creature bent down until it could look closely at the photos. “My followers were killed during the ritual. I did not know they also succeeded.”

Rosa needed a moment to process the new information. It was at once similar to what they guessed and very different. She never even considered that the creature itself did not physically go to the resurrection. It made more sense now. Killing humans was a lot easier than killing a god. And if the god thought its humans didn’t accomplish the task, then it wouldn’t know to look for the product. But the revelations only gave her more questions. “If the Other killed your flock, why not also kill the three?”

“The ritual protects for a short time. It is a promise of life, for two sunrises.” It moved away from the photographs. “To feast with their loved ones. To tell stories of the life after. To share wisdom with new generations. All other sunrises are gifts of luck.”

“Do they call the Other ‘Anguish’?” she inquired, feeling increasingly comfortable in the deity’s presence. Anyone who saw it would be terrified. But its true nature revealed innate goodness. It handed out miracles to desperate people. It changed its appearance to meet a need or avoid scaring them. It wanted to save its species.

It made a certain snarling noise, seemingly out of disgust. “No. That is a slave, that thinks it is free. A parasite that the Other commands.”

She grinned a little. “I killed it.” With help, but being a feared half-god took some finessing.

“You are a friend to the healer?”

Rosa nodded. “To all three.”

“You will protect him until the child is found and awoken.” It wasn’t a question. “Pledge this to me, and you shall hear the knowledge as well.”

Sure, why not? She was already acting as their bodyguard, just as Cas and Dean always did for Sam, and he to them. “What knowledge?” She asked, though the response didn’t affect the outcome. Her answer was already a resounding yes.

“All things that the Earth knows. The child befriended her, and in appreciation she whispered her secrets. The Other grew jealous and struck down the child, but the Earth wept and could not accept the death. Instead, the child sleeps.” The way this creature spoke, it seemed that a personified version of Earth was the deity’s own god. That it worshiped the planet like humans worshipped it.

Now, that made sense. Mud and wood were products of Earth, and the living flesh always returned to the soil, eventually. “I pledge my protection.”

The Living Tree uttered a sound of approval. “The Other looms over the child. It cannot harm or wake the innocent, but it can kill the healer. My followers work to lessen the Other’s influence, but it is strong, in some ways more than I.”

“There are many willing to protect your healer. And all are accomplished warriors. We will do what you require.” After a pause, “But I must ask, what would happen to the healer if the Other killed him? Would he return to his afterlife?”

“I do not know. I cannot find my followers it has killed. I cannot bring them back. The path may be closed to me, or there is nothing left to walk it.” The god leaned in a little too close for comfort. “He will not return to Earth. I fear he will not continue the cycle.” Mud dripped down over the deity’s mouth and into the spaces between its teeth.

“That’s a big thing to ask a mortal, especially one that has tasted paradise,” she pointed out. Protection or not, she wouldn’t blame Sam if he just said no.

The creature made no physical reaction to the bold challenge. “It is his choice. I only bring back the dead. Life is dictated by the living.” It twisted away just in time to avoid getting mud on her blouse. “In doing this, I have already blessed those who did not desire it. This is a transgression on my part.”

Was a god really apologizing for bringing people back to life? Even with the danger, how could a second go at living be a bad thing? But even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Pain. At the moment, it affected Dean the most, but it could be any of them in the future, especially if they agreed to helping this deity.

At once, she realized that the Living Tree reminded her of Cas, albeit a little more horrifying to look at. The care with which it valued human comfort and the balance between life and afterlife felt compassionate. And Cas was one of the most compassionate people she knew. A level of self-sacrifice—her mentor’s favorite hobby—emanated from it, too. Unfortunately, that meant Cas would do everything in his power to stop Sam from helping. He would lose, but he wouldn’t give in easily. Dean could be even more difficult.

Sam’s healing ability was his most precious possession. Add in a child needing assistance? Not even his lovers could dampen what he felt was his calling in life.

“I will explain your situation to him. I believe he will say yes.” She shifted her weight. “May I speak with you again, if I have more questions or want to tell you our progress? I would be delighted to hear more about you, Living Tree.” She thought for sure now that the creature must mean Tree of Life, which appeared in major religions throughout history. If that were true, then it likely had abilities it hadn’t shared. Unless the name was a more general term for its race of gods. In that case, the broad dissemination would indicate a very large population at one time.

She wondered what happened to them. Did they have a life expectancy? Did something hunt them down? Or did they just individually die out from different causes? If so, the one she met was particularly resilient.

“Yes. May you be fortunate, Rosa.”

Before she could react to the creature knowing her name—without her mentioning it or even being asked—her new buddy started to change. The mud engulfed the skeleton until she could no longer see it. Shortly after, the wooden exterior at its base crept up where the body had been. The root-like arms stretched toward the sky and now looked like branches. The center enlarged. More appendages appeared. And finally, leaves began to grow. It was a tree. Possibly oak. The creature left a full-sized tree in its wake.

A beautiful one. She reached out and touched the trunk. There were no signs it was anything strange, except that there hadn’t been a tree here moments earlier. She looked up at the sun filtering through the branches and immediately felt a wave of peace rush over her.

She couldn’t have dreamed of a better way to exit a conversation. With a smile, she set about dismantling her magic items. The untouched food was dropped in small piles at the base of the tree, along with the flowers and reeds. She thought it would like them or at least appreciate the offerings. As for the figurines? They didn’t seem to mean much to it, but they did to the museum that she borrowed them from. She would take a detour on her way home and return them.

Rosa poured out the water—also next to the tree, providing its first drink. She kicked at the salt until it wasn’t a circle anymore and tried to stamp out some of the paint, too. The scene would be strange to anyone who found it. She could only take her belongings with her and hope for the best. The remaining items went in her bag.

With a final look at the tree, she decided to take a photo of it with her phone. It easily looked like some of the religious depictions her new friend’s name evoked. It deserved remembering.

She pocketed the device and took off for Turkey.

***

Rosa had erased the board and started writing notes on her discoveries before anyone even knew she was there. Everyone could be found in the kitchen socializing over lunch. It was Frank who noticed the witch working at a fevered pace.

In the center of the board was “SAM,” written large and circled. Out from the name were lines reaching toward bubbles full of other information. He saw “Tree of Life,” then under it “Living Tree, Father, Mother.” In the bottom right corner, “Wake up kid in coma.” The marker squeaked as she worked on a paragraph description of the creature she encountered.

“‘Skeleton tree?’” Frank broke into her concentration.

Without turning or stopping, Rosa simply nodded. When she finished the physical description, she added another bubble that just said “The Other.” Then she had second thoughts. Erasing the bottom, she wrote in small lettering “sent Anguish to stop us. ENEMY.”

The old hunter scratched his head in confusion. “You’re planning on explaining all this, right?”

Another distracted nod. She started in on some changes to their understanding of Çatalhöyük and finished with a note about the elm. When she turned around, Sam had entered the room, and he looked mortified. “Rosa, why is my name on there?”

She gulped as Cas and Dean joined them. “You’re gonna want to sit down.”

***

To an audience of concerned and bewildered faces, Rosa related what the Living Tree told her. And what he asked of Sam. She explained everything in detail, using the dry erase board as an outline for her presentation. She tried to answer their questions to the best of her ability, but the god didn’t go into much detail. They didn’t know who the child was or where. They didn’t know who or what the Other was, either, or anything about fighting it. And very few of the hunters thought they could trust what the deity told her.

On that point, she strongly disagreed. While the creature had been vague on several issues, she thought perhaps it was partially a language issue, and that he simply didn’t know the answers to all of her questions. He appeared frightening, but so did Rosa if you looked through the right lens. And the beautiful tree left behind only solidified her opinion on him. They were dealing with a friendly but powerful force that simply wanted something very important.

“Even if we find the right kid, out of thousands of kids in comas, how do we know we’re not walking into a trap?” Bobby asked, staring at the board. “Or that this thing won’t just kill us once it has what it wants?”

Rosa rubbed at the space between her eyes. They’d been going on like this all afternoon. “First of all, I don’t think something called the Living Tree kills people. It seems to do the exact opposite of that, and as far as I can tell, very little else. Secondly, we _know_ it’s a trap. But not by our new associate. The child is being guarded or haunted or whatever by something that tried to kill him or her. It doesn’t want the kid to live and probably not to tell us anything, either. We will be facing an enemy by doing this. The only variable is what that enemy can do.”

“I don’t think any of us can go up against a demigod and survive,” Cas pointed out.

She could sympathize with his point of view, but she did not share it. “Well, not if we don’t prepare. It’ll mean more research. A lot more. Weapons stockpiling. Hopefully a positive ID on what the Other really is. But beyond total annihilation, what’s the worst that could happen? We give a bunch of kids their lives back.”

Rosa knew that Sam and Cas used to visit children’s hospitals and just _fix_ the entire terminal ward. The angel would bake cookies, and then Sam healed as many kids as he could. He’d make himself sick doing it if there were a few more than they expected. There was no reason to think the man’s self-sacrificial tendencies disappeared in Heaven (nor that of his lovers, either). It would take time, but they could find the child through process of elimination if they had to. If checking news sources and such didn’t locate their target, an express ride to every hospital with a comatose kid might.

“Look, we’re not gonna do anything until we know what we’re up against,” she continued in her most authoritative voice. “Let’s just try and figure that out first, and then go from there.”

Cas’s face said that he wanted to walk away from all of it right this moment, to not even entertain the idea. His fear for Sam and Dean was tangible. For not just their lives but their souls. He couldn’t lose them. He wouldn’t lose them. But for now, he said nothing further. Rosa made a mental note that he might be more difficult than she originally thought. She adored her mentor, but she also wanted to see this thing through.

“More research?” Frank asked in a downtrodden voice.

She nodded, happy to change the subject. “More research.”


	23. Overcome

Sam knew what was coming. He could feel the arguments boil up inside Cas, and to a lesser extent Dean. His brother’s smaller contribution was a product of exhaustion from his illness. He didn’t have the energy to fight so strongly. But their angel did, and he planned to begin once he got Sam alone. He knew they both didn’t want him to agree to the plan.

He was busy preparing for another try at healing his soulmate when Cas appeared at the doorway to their shared room. He’d left the door open in anticipation of Dean joining him.

Before his distraught lover could say a single word, Sam raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You don’t care what I think?” came a voice filled with hurt.

Sam felt for him. Literally. The pain in his heart radiated across the room at him like waves breaking on a beach. “I didn’t say that. I said I don’t wanna discuss it. I know how you feel, and of course I care what you think.”

“But you’re gonna do it anyway?”

He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves. It wasn’t really necessary for healing, but he felt more confident when he could see everywhere his power went, even if he couldn’t watch the energy itself. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Cas.” He sighed. “You know me well enough to get that I have to help, if I can. You _know_ that.”

Cas sniffed. “But you could—”

“I care about you a lot, and I love you. Please don’t ask me to just let this go.” He turned his full attention to the angel. “Please.”

His lover moved into the room slowly before sitting on the bed in front of Sam. Sadness and stress infected every part of him, to the point that Cas’s shoulders and neck hurt, and the healer felt that, too. He could not watch him be in pain and do nothing, no more than he could hear about a child that needed him to be rescued. He took a seat next to him and touched his arm.

“I can’t lose you,” Cas managed after a few moments. “And neither can Dean.”

Sam sure as hell didn’t want to lose them, either. Or die in general. “I won’t do anything to make that happen. And anyway, there’s gotta be a middle ground here. We kill that thing, help the kid. Come out on top.” God knows he’d survived things with stakes higher than this, with far less at their disposal. In situations he didn’t even want to be a part of.

Dean appeared at the door, his face weary from inner turmoil. And he had no interest in taking up the argument. “You ready to do this?”

Nodding, Sam patted the bed next to him before turning to Cas. “Can you give us a little bit?”

“He can stay,” Dean countered to both of his companions’ surprise. “I mean, I kinda want him to stay for this.” He needed their combined support. Even if all the work was being done by Sam, knowing Cas would be there, too, he’d automatically feel better.

Sam smiled. “Okay.” The two wanted it, and he didn’t have a problem working in front of an audience. He only asked for the privacy for Dean’s sake, should he have a bad reaction. Their angel was more than welcome to sit in on this session.

But he had to focus all of his energies on Dean. When his brother joined them on the bed, Sam cradled his face in both hands. “We’re going to focus on fear this time,” he said slowly. “We have to. But it’s—it could get pretty dicey. I have to take you through it to find out which parts are hurting you. And then I can treat them.” He tried not to get emotional, but he couldn’t help it. “You—you might have trouble with it.”

Dean put on a brave face, but Sam sensed his panic. “I’m having trouble with the whole thing, so…”

He caressed his cheek. Yes, he was. But the healer strongly suspected that this would hurt. A lot. And it might take more than one session just for this stage. He honestly didn’t know. And he couldn’t see what he was doing, only feel it and watch Dean’s face. The current theory was that there would be a pain spike with the memories that contributed to his PTSD. Whenever he found one, he would send healing energy there. It wouldn’t erase the trauma, but it might make the events feel less traumatic.

As for bringing up the memories, Cas assured him that he could direct it with his power and a little verbal coaxing. Which was good, because while he knew where to begin, the rest was a minefield of shit children and teens shouldn’t have to go through.

Holding onto him just tight enough, “Okay. You have to close your eyes.” He did, reluctantly. “You smell smoke.”

Dean’s eyes shot back open, and he glared at him. “Wait. Dude, I don’t—”

But it was too late. Sam already sent the power in, and Dean was there. In his tiny room in Kansas. He smelled it before the alarm went off. No one came and got him. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid. So afraid. He got out of bed and went into the hallway.

In the present, Sam watched helplessly as tears ran down his cheeks. His eyes were open, but he didn’t see his soulmate. He didn’t know where he was. And he didn’t have a third person view of the events unfolding in his head. He couldn’t analyze them. Only relive the terrifying moment that changed their lives forever. Sam didn’t share this memory, and his own mental health was grateful.

“Take your brother outside,” Dean muttered in a distant voice. In his head, it was their father, bellowing at him over the sound of a raging fire. And suddenly, an infant they never let him hold without supervision was his entire responsibility. He wanted to ask where Mom was. He wanted to say he didn’t think he could make it without help. But he didn’t say anything. He did as he was told. He clung to Sam and raced down the stairs as fast as he could without tripping. The smoke cut into his lungs and he coughed.

He couldn’t get the door open. He didn’t know why. The knob turned, but it didn’t budge. Sam started crying. The smoke was hurting him, too. Dean wasn’t gonna make it. He had one job, and he knew he would fail. At the last moment, he remembered that at night his mother turned an extra lock, to keep them safer. He watched her do it every single night before bed. Why couldn’t he remember sooner?

With Sam barely held up in one arm, he rose up on his toes, wrestled with the lock, and finally opened the door. Two steps and he turned to see flames bursting out of his parents’ bedroom windows.

Dean shook in his soulmate’s hands, but the real reaction was what he felt internally. Not just terror, but so very unsafe, even when their father emerged relatively unscathed. He didn’t fully understand. Why wasn’t Mom there, too? Why wasn’t she—?

But the feeling faded. It melted away. Suddenly, the house was gone. John Winchester was gone. And he held nothing. He stared at emptiness and felt calm. Comforted. He was alone but he didn’t feel like it. And then suddenly he was back in their room at Bobby’s. Adult Sam wiped the tears from his face and smoothed down his hair.

Confused and breathing heavy, Dean looked at him in distress. “What the fuck?!” he cried. “What did you—Oh, fuck.”

There was no noticeable change in the strength of his illness, but Sam felt confident he soothed one of the causes. With each problematic memory he found, they would be closer to halting what fueled his current symptoms. “You still remember what happened, right? It’s still something you remember going through?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s not something you forget.”

Well, it could be, if he accidentally erased it. That potential issue didn’t even occur to him until he felt Dean’s relief. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be the case. “But it doesn’t hurt? When you think about it, what happens?”

He searched for the what he’d clearly experience only an instant before, but it didn’t feel new. In a way, it always felt _fresh_ , like a wound that never healed. Not now. He remembered being scared, but it was distant. Not as important or powerful. He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s still awful, but I’m not—I’m not afraid of it.” Anymore.

Both Sam and Cas were overjoyed. It killed them to watch him experience that night again. They hated seeing him—and each other—in any kind of pain. But this one couldn’t control him now. It couldn’t dictate how he felt today, and it wouldn’t contribute to Dean’s symptoms.

As his soulmate tried to compose himself, Sam simply held him. “You did great.”

“Liar,” he whispered.

“We can take a break, if you need it.” He kissed him lightly as Cas rubbed his back. “You just got through something I can’t even imagine. And we made progress.”

Not enough, as far as Dean was concerned. He didn’t feel any less depressed or anxious. There was a weight lifted, but he carried so much more. “No. Keep going. I don’t think it could get much worse than that.”

Sam tried not to betray his thoughts to the others. He previously made an outline of specific incidents to focus on before trying a more general approach. The fire was the most obvious target, but there were a lot more. And he might have to go after more recent events, too, as some people with PTSD could easily become re-traumatized by things that were similar to their original triggers. Sam’s safety, for instance, was a likely candidate. But he would keep the two biggest candidates of that on the backburner for now.

There was a much more pressing one that he thought would make a lot of leeway. “Close your eyes,” he directed again. This time, his patient acquiesced. “We’re in a cemetery. The gates of hell are open.”

“Shit,” Dean said under his breath. He couldn’t even prepare for what was coming. He wouldn’t remember where he really was until after it ended. Though he struggled to stay put, he soon found himself face to face with the demon Azazel, literally hell-bent on taking things over. But that wasn’t why Sam picked this scene. Fear was certainly present for both of them, as they weren’t winning the fight.

This story, however, was abut loss. One of the spirts freed by the gate opening was their own father, and he returned to exact revenge on the yellow-eyed demon. He essentially wrestled the creature back into hell, and they were able to shut the doors. They saw him one more time, wordless, and then he was gone. As much as the man contributed to Dean’s current state, he was also roundly worshipped by him for most of his childhood. He didn’t think at the time that he was being neglected or abused. He thought John was some kind of brave warrior fighting evil.

So, the loss of him would be traumatic, especially then. Sam sat back and watched his soulmate go through the emotions. He broke down. He cried. Much stronger than he did when it happened. Unfortunately, the healer had to wait until the apex of pain before he could tell if it was connected to the bigger disease. When it finally happened, he immediately sent out the cooling energy, and Dean calmed soon after. He returned to them, tired but less shaken.

He pressed his head against the side of Sam’s. “This sucks, man,” he admitted.

The healer nodded. “A few more, and we’ll take a breather.” Dean would never quit so soon. Too stubborn—and too in need of the help. Like cauterizing the wounds or popping his shoulder back in place, he could bear the short bursts of pain for the better end result.

But that didn’t mean Sam had to hit him with all the hardest ones at once. He picked four instances to complete the session. The first time Dean got arrested—age eleven—because they ran out of food when left alone for more than a week. A couple of really close call hunts, both when Dean had just hit puberty, since trauma in transitionary periods were more likely to cause lasting effects. And the time Sam took off for a couple weeks as a teenager, to get away from their father and from hunting.

The last one was probably the most painful for Dean, because he not only felt abandoned but that he hadn’t done his job correctly. Sam only found out later that John told him to retrieve his brother or not return at all. That level of manipulation and heartlessness had to cut into him deeply. In hindsight, he wouldn’t have left. The temporary freedom wasn’t worth the pain it caused. His attendance at college also upset his soulmate—with the bond no doubt intensifying his discomfort—but that wasn’t so sudden. And he knew Sam wanted a real education. He thought he deserved it.

Neither of the hunts contributed to Dean’s illness, and his reactions to them were mild. The arrest was interesting because the spike, though small, came much earlier than expected. It was the fear of Sam going hungry that set him off, not being hauled in by police. The positive? He didn’t have to relive the whole thing.

Sam’s leaving was a big one. Guilt washed over him as he watched Dean re-experience the confrontation and then the searching. His body trembled, and though he didn’t realize it, he gripped Sam’s wrist tightly.

He healed him as soon as he could. When Dean came out of it, he wrapped both arms around Sam and sank into him a little. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, “I didn’t know you thought that was a big deal.” In all their calm days and deep discussions, they hardly talked about it after Sam returned.

“It was a big deal to you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

He moved just far enough away to look Sam in the eyes. “Dude, I forgave you like ten minutes after you left. And anyway, it’s fine now.”

Still. It was a selfish thing to do. He never took into account how it could affect anyone else. It was the kind of thing a normal teenager might do, which was something only he had the luxury of. Dean didn’t get to be a kid, let alone a teen. He had adult responsibilities from four years old on. Anger mixed with Sam’s guilt as he thought about it, especially knowing now that it created lasting problems.

And Dean would have to relive every shitty moment in order to recover.

For now, however, he had to do damage control. Each memory took a very real toll on his soulmate, both mentally and physically. While the individual traumas no longer hurt him, going through them was exhausting and stressful. He felt shaky in Sam’s hands, and he looked pale. “If you want, I can put you out for a couple hours. You could get some sleep.”

Dean shook his head emphatically. “No. I—I don’t need that.”

He decided to drop it, instead choosing to bring Cas in for added support. Turning to him, he gestured for the angel to come closer. When he did, Sam gently slid Dean into his arms and took a more distant role. Cas was grateful for the opportunity to help. He felt useless watching everything unfold, having no ability to stop it or make things better.

As for Dean, he didn’t really care which of them provided the necessary closeness, just that he got it. Both of them kept him grounded. Both were anchors to this world and reasons to keep going. Being awake and close to them served as better medicine than going unconscious.

Sam didn’t go far. He leaned down and pressed his nose into the back of Dean’s shoulder. He loosely touched his soulmate’s waist, but did nothing further. Cas, on the other hand, embraced him fully. He kissed him and held him and made absolutely certain he couldn’t feel alone. Dean felt safe. They were the only ones who could give him that feeling, and they provided it with expert precision.

The three remained in close proximity for more than an hour. They spoke very little. They didn’t really need to. Eventually, Sam left the two of them to get something to eat. He had to, in order to regain his strength. He felt a little lightheaded from the session, and he wanted to recover as soon as possible.

If his companions didn’t come down by dinner, he would bring them something.

After scoring some leftover spaghetti, Sam wandered into the research room, where Frank, Rosa, and Bobby were all busy working. Frank slowly typed on the laptop and seemed to be looking for leads on the mystery child. Bobby and the witch were working on identifying the Other. There were a few more notes on the board—questions about the Earth itself being a potential deity, and if it was, then perhaps the Other was a former devotee.

Rosa believed that it formed the basis for nature magic, and it might even explain the legendary pools of energy. Witches who worshipped the Earth were rewarded with energy for their spells. Or they found them and then changed their approach. Either way, the more she thought about it the more she was certain of the connection.

“I think Anguish was sent to stop Sam,” Rosa explained to the man of the house. She didn’t seem to notice the healer’s entry. “But I’m not sure why it went after Dean instead. It could be to try and destabilize him or maybe the thing just got confused since Dean has more energy.”

“Or it couldn’t go after me directly,” Sam supplied. He had his own theory that the healing power might actually prevent or defend against the monster’s attacks. It never even approached him. But it did try and get Cas, and of course Dean multiple times. The people he cared about. That approach would’ve been just as effective. He couldn’t function without them. If they went back to Heaven, he would immediately go with them. If they were obliterated? He would want to be the same.

Rosa looked up at him and blushed a little. It was rude to discuss someone when they weren’t around. Obviously, she did it all the time, but she didn’t usually get caught. “Hi, Sam,” she said sheepishly.

He could feel her embarrassment. “Don’t worry. I know I’m the job now.”

“No, you ain’t,” Bobby objected. “That kid and that monster are the case. You’re just wrapped up in it.”

Sam thought it was sweet of the man to come to his defense, but he was wrong. Without his involvement, there was no mission. Nothing to research. He was the primary piece of the puzzle, and the only person among them who couldn’t walk away.

No one was talking about it, but leaving this problem behind or not wasn’t just about moral obligations. The Other sent one monster after them and supposedly killed a whole group of people. They might not _get_ to leave this alone. It might come to them. Every person in this house was in danger so long as that creature was out there—and Sam was in here.

The only way they could actually leave without helping would be to return to paradise, something he wasn’t prepared to do. Only the deaths of his lovers would make him go that route again. Not fleeing a potential danger. And he had no intention of explaining this option to them for fear they might make the choice for him. Especially given Dean’s less than stable condition.

Besides, he did want to help. He felt like he _should_ help. It was his calling.

Sam walked up to the board and touched the space just below his name, which was still written in giant letters at the center. He felt a little sedated, almost drunk, from the healing session. His head was foggy, and he sort of drifted inside his own skull. He knew this feeling well. While he hadn’t used too much energy, he over-focused on delivering it quickly, for Dean’s sake. In that way, he still wore himself out. This intoxication was a common side-effect.

He looked over at Bobby and Rosa. “Any leads?”

The old hunter shook his head and closed the book in his lap. “Not on our creature. Not yet, anyway.”

“I have a few spells I could try,” Rosa contributed, “but I think we should hold off on them until we know more.” She still had some of Anguish’s hair, and Frank kept one of those rings, mostly just as a toy. If the Other sent that creature—and maybe even put the jewelry on as a control mechanism—then she could potentially use those items. But the spell would work like the one she did with the Living Tree. It would bring the monster to her. Without knowing anything about it, and seeing that another god feared it, she wasn’t exactly lining up for a confrontation.

“I’m keeping a list of coma kids,” came from Frank. “There aren’t exactly a shortage of them.”

Sam yawned. He thought he should probably help them research, but he was exhausted. Dean would need aftercare for the rest of the day, so he had to save his reserves for him. Cas could handle it for now, though.

Rosa eyed him with equal parts concern and curiosity. He seemed dazed. “How’d it go?”

“Nobody wants to walk through Hell twice.”

Poetic, she thought. And sad. She’d been vaguely briefed on what would happen—that Dean had to relive his worst memories so that their impact could be lessened—but she didn’t really know the specifics. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Sam wanted to explain them, at least not in front of the hunters. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” he said unconvincingly. “Just tired.” Hurting. Burnt out from the emotional marathon and literally clinging to hope. If he wasn’t so sedated, Sam could cry just from thinking about it.

He knew he was helping. He could feel after the session that the illness’ foundation started to crumble. But the act of doing it was causing unimaginable pain to a person he loved more than anyone or anything (except Cas, of course). And he took every blow right along with him. His angelic empathy made sure of it.

Before anyone could ask if Dean should be alone, he added: “Cas is with him.”

“You take all the time you need to work on that, you hear me?” Bobby interjected. “That boy’s more important than research, and we got it covered.”

Sam gave a nod. It _would_ take time. Multiple sessions easily as bad as the first. And then he could get to work on the symptoms themselves. He wasn’t looking forward to it, to watching Dean’s heart break over and over. To seeing him so scared his whole body trembled. And knowing how bad it was.

He sat down in one of the softer chairs and stared blankly at the board. “I feel like I’m doing more damage than good,” he admitted.

“You’re not,” Rosa countered immediately. On this, she was certain. To be fair, she knew Dean the least, but they were still like family for a while. She saw how much pain he endured now, and the reasoning behind Sam’s approach was sound. “You’re repairing damage. You’re helping.”

“Yeah, I guess.”


	24. Comfortably Numb

He tried slightly different approaches for the next few sessions. In one case, they took a late-night bath together in the first-floor tub—which didn’t quite fit the two of them comfortably, but did provide extra warmth and closeness. In another, they went for a drive first and then accomplished the task near a wooded area. The changes were designed to avoid any association between the bad memories and a real-life location, such as their bedroom. They were also places and situations that made Dean feel better in general.

Sam spread out the worst memories so that there were only one or two per session, with other lesser but still damaging ones used as padding. Towards the end, though, he was running out of those and procrastinating on three specific ones he knew would be exceptionally difficult. They were all more recent events that Sam suspected might still have contributed to the PTSD, despite being well into adulthood. The time Cas betrayed them. The scene that led to Sam being killed by angels. And the moment Dean realized Sam didn’t intend to outlive him for long.

The easiest one was Cas, since it had already been resolved, atoned for. Nothing John Winchester did ever resulted in an apology. Their angel, however, spent years making it up to them. It was possible the event didn’t even have a lasting impact because of that, but he had to make sure. Because of the sensitive nature of the topic, he made sure that session did not involve Cas at all.

Dean took it about as well as one would expect. He thought he’d put it behind him. He didn’t want it dredged up again. It was a scar, not a wound. He loved Cas. He didn’t hold it against him, what happened. Not anymore. Sam dragged him through it anyway, just in case. And tried not to resurrect his own feelings on the subject.

It took a while, since they had to start at the betrayal and end when Cas came back to them. Some of the parts in between were essentially put on fast-forward since they weren’t relevant, but every emotion felt on this topic had to be experienced again. At the end, Sam found no evidence of it contributing to Deans’ condition. That time was rough on both of them, but resolution helped them heal. Their angel made a colossal mistake. Regardless, he was still their angel.

He felt guilty about subjecting his soulmate to that, without any help coming from it. They ended the session after that one, and promptly returned home from the open field where it took place. Sam feared that the memory would trigger tension between Dean and Cas, but the opposite happened. The moment they were in the door, the two embraced, and spent the rest of the evening nearly inseparable.

After that, there were only two sessions left. One contained the last two terrible events that Sam could think of, and the other would let his energy search for any remnants left that could be affecting him.

For the more personal one, they returned to the room and kept Cas nearby. He’d been dreading this day, and Dean could sense it. “What is it? What’s left?”

“Let’s just do it, okay? And get it over with. Like having blood drawn. It’s better you don’t think about the needle too much.” And he didn’t really want to tell him. “Are you ready?” When Dean nodded with trepidation, Sam tried to form the words without his voice shaking. “We’re in an abandoned jewelry store.”

“Fuck.”

The only upside to this memory was its relative briefness. The fight hadn’t lasted very long. Dean’s back broke, making him unable to help, and Sam was left to try and defend all three of them with no chance of success. Dean watched as his soulmate was murdered, and with Cas near-death, too, he moved to end his life—stopped at the very last moment by Balthazar, who won the fight, healed him, and brought Sam back from the dead.

But the healer found a very noticeable spike in pain from that day, and he mended it as quickly as possible. At least Dean didn’t have to relive it for nothing.

Still, he was a mess afterwards. When he awoke, he just touched Sam’s face and chest, as if to ensure he was really there and still alive. “I’m okay,” Sam whispered to him. “It’s okay now.”

Dean sniffed. “Fucking hell, Sammy.”

“I know.”

Cas leaned in and kissed Dean by his ear, and the act seemed to calm him slightly. But the man hung his head and gripped Sam’s hands for a really long time. It didn’t matter that if things had ended that day, they still would’ve been together. Heaven revealed soulmate connections. They simply would have explored it there. But Dean didn’t know that at the time. He thought he was simply losing them both forever. Even with the pain removed, he needed a few moments to convince himself that the threat was gone.

The second and only other memory of this session would be just as bad, if not worse. “There’s only one more,” he said in a low voice, trying to sound comforting. But he knew how bad it would be. The subject matter very clearly and visibly still bothered him to this day. Sam could only address one half of the problem. Dean wasn’t there to see Cas or Sam die—thankfully. But he was alive long enough to realize Sam didn’t intend to survive the crash. Which logically would only produce one result for their angel.

While the accident itself was traumatic in and of itself, it was that horrifying realization that certainly caused the most damage. This memory would be shorter, but it might feel twice as long.

Unbeknownst to the healer, Dean already guessed what it was. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Just do it.”

Gulping, “We’re in an intersection, and a car just ran a red light.”

Cas held onto Dean as though he could prevent the past from happening. If he was just there, he could stop the swerving and glass shattering. He knew it wouldn’t work. But he tried anyway.

It was over almost as quickly as it began, with Sam identifying the giant cut in Dean’s soul and closing it as fast as he could. The pain there felt overwhelming to him, and it took so much energy to sooth it. More than he expected. When Dean finally roused, he crumbled, falling over to his side. He had to cover his mouth to avoid howling, but he couldn’t stop the tears that followed. Cas reached down to touch his arm and felt him shivering.

Sam bent over him and tried to cradle him in his arms. There was nothing he could say that would help. An apology? He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t want Dean to hurt—ever—but he couldn’t bear losing him. This much was clear to everyone in the room, and probably most of the people downstairs. Even Cas had come to terms with it. He knew that while Sam loved him so incredibly much, he couldn’t handle a fracture of the soulmate bond. His whole existence formed around that connection. When it happened for real at the end of their first lives, Cas wasn’t even angry. Just ready to throw in the towel, too.

Instead, he just touched Dean’s cheek and held him close.

Eventually, the patient calmed enough to crawl into Cas’s lap, but he never let go of Sam. He couldn’t. If he did, his soulmate might slip away. Even as the hurt from that last day slowly felt more manageable, it would take much longer for him to accept what happened. He hated that he’d made himself so needed that Sam couldn’t live without him. He encouraged that dependency, at least on some level. The guilt he felt from causing his suicide wouldn’t go away with magic.

But it didn’t have to. With the pain gone, Sam could sense it now. And he understood. “You didn’t cause anything,” Sam whispered. “I’m not lost without you, Dean. I don’t forget who I am when you’re not with me. I just don’t want any part of a world that doesn’t have you in it. Or Cas.” He reached over and caressed the angel’s arm. Poor guy probably felt neglected in all this chaos, though he’d never admit it. “I know you still think it was your fault, but it wasn’t. If I was so dependent on you, so obsessed with giving you what you want, wouldn’t I listen? Wouldn’t I have stayed because you told me to?”

Dean couldn’t look at him directly, but he shot a glance at Cas, who gave a slow nod. “We left because this place sucks without you,” he agreed. “I knew it wasn’t what you wanted. Sam knew that, too. But it wasn’t your decision. It was ours.” When Dean still didn’t say anything, the angel continued. “You’re great, you know? You’re fun to be around. And we both knew that we could have you again if we checked out. Do you really think you conned us?”

“No, but I—”

“You what? You think we’re too good for you?” Cas laughed. It was dismissive and sympathetic at the same time. “Dean, we’re the same. All three of us are the same.”

Sam took his his hand and gripped it tightly. “Trust us, okay? We love you. That’s why we’re here. We know you better than anyone, and we love everything about you. We _do_ need you—seriously—but not any more or less than you need both of us.”

It took a while but eventually Dean sat up a little so he could easily look at both of them. Their faces were one-hundred-percent sincere, and to be honest, he didn’t want to defend that position any longer. Guilt without the pain behind it didn’t have any fuel. The only thing left was a desire to never see them die, but technically he didn’t have to, at least not at the end of their lives. Paramedics watched Sam go, and Rosa apparently stayed with Cas until the very end. He could take comfort in being spared that hardship and more so that neither of them were alone.

“I trust you,” he said as quickly as he could get the words out. Trust would always be more difficult for him than love, but not with Sam and Cas. Of course he trusted them. And doing so meant that he had to trust their judgement. If they said he didn’t make them overly reliant on him, then he had to believe them. Their whole relationship certainly had a heavy shadow of dependency, but maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe their unusually close bonds were responsible for it, and the fact that it would always be them against the world.

The guilt about their deaths broke like an old dam, his misgivings flooding away from a reservoir he didn’t even know he had.

Breathing deeply, “And I believe you.”

Cas hugged him and kissed his cheek. It was wonderful to see him feel less burdened, especially when it came to him and Sam. They weren’t there for him to feel guilty about. They wanted to help him feel better, just as he often did for each of them. Sam felt the same way. Relief. And he knew what the angel did not: that they’d found nearly all of the troublesome memories and treated them. The next session would feel more like a dream with rare glimpses of bad things. He couldn’t do the whole treatment like that, because it would involve more energy than he possessed, but he could clean up what remained of Dean’s trauma.

For now, however, they would just celebrate the victories and help him recover. When his soulmate was ready, Sam would continue to treatment.

***

Dean couldn’t sleep. Even his brother, who barely rested when his batteries were fully recharged, was out like a light thanks to the magical workout. Cas slept normally, wrapped around Sam this time, while their patient took the other side. He maneuvered until his bare feet touched the floor. Searching in the dark, he found a pair of jeans that fit and his sweatshirt with the pills inside.

He still hadn’t used them, yet. They could probably help him fall asleep.

But he wasn’t sure it was worth it. They weren’t exactly doing much strenuous activity during the day. He could always disappear for a couple hours in the afternoon and pass out if he really needed to. Nothing was expected of him now. Except to get better, which felt daunting even with all of Sam’s healing.

The pressure to show progress—now that was rough. They didn’t necessarily say anything directly, but they always asked how he was doing or feeling. The expectation was to hear something new. The same old answer didn’t satisfy their inquiries, or at least it wouldn’t for long. They were disappointed. Like getting better turned into his job, and he wasn’t doing it very well.

On top of feeling like shit most of the time.

He crept out of the room without waking them and headed downstairs. This time of night, he could be alone. He could just peacefully avoid the situation for a while. Why did everything have to be about him being sick? They had a case. They had other problems. He wanted to get better, but he didn’t want everyone to watch him do it, to analyze every step or misstep. It mortified him.

Eventually, he drifted over to the fridge and opened it. He had to squint into the light as his eyes adjusted. But there wasn’t anything in there that would help, nor did he feel hungry. A beer would’ve been nice. He scoffed and closed the door.

It was too cold to sit outside without more clothing, so he decided to head for the sun room, which thankfully no longer smelled like rotting corpses. In the hall on his way there, however, he heard a squeaking sound coming from the research area. He froze. In a nearby piece of furniture, he found a letter opener. Not exactly the best weapon in the world, but he could work with it. Slowly, he inched into the room.

No intruder. Just Rosa, standing in the dark, in front of the dry erase board. The squeaking came from her marker as she wrote at a fevered pace. Not a diagram or even real sentences as far as he could tell, though the low lighting made most of it impossible to read. And although it was a familiar face, the scene felt very, very wrong.

If she wanted to work late at night, fine, but why not turn on some lights or at least get a candle? And though he was quiet, the idea that she wouldn’t notice him come in didn’t seem normal. She had a hair-trigger not too different from Dean. She just managed it better. The only way she wouldn’t acknowledge him is if she didn’t care—or something else was going on. As he approached, he noticed that the first line wasn’t even words, just a series of connected loops.

“Rosa?” he asked with plenty of suspicion in his voice. When she didn’t answer, “Rosa, what’s going on?”

Still no response, only writing. When she reached the bottom of the board, she flipped it over—a sudden movement that made him jump—and began writing on the pegboard in the same way. Words and phrases that didn’t seem to make much sense. No punctuation or paragraphs or anything like that. Stream of consciousness thoughts or sleepwalking or…

Or something unnatural. “Rosa, what the hell is this? What did you do?” He slipped the letter opener into his pocket and walked over to her side. She didn’t look at him or even pause. When he got a good view of her face, it was blank. Her eyes didn’t even follow the words she was writing. “Hey, stop this!”

The marker screeched to a halt mid-word. Eventually, her arm dropped, and she stood there silently.

Dean carefully put a hand on her shoulder and shook her a little. “Rosa, c’mon. This is weird, even for you. Snap out of it.”

Eventually, she looked up with a dull expression. She didn’t seem to recognize him at first. Then, “I wasn’t finished. You should have let me finish.” She set the marker down and turned back to her work. “This is good.”

He shook his head. “Uh, mind explaining what the hell you just did?” After a moment to think it over, he added: “Is this a spell, Rosa?”

She smiled but still seemed distant. “It’s called automatic writing. Spirit writing.”

“Which is?”

“I let one or more spiritual remnants tell my hand what to jot down.” She moved a couple steps and switched on a small lamp. “It works best during the witching hour, and it would be disconcerting for other people to watch.” And she would probably encounter resistance to the idea. She gestured toward the board. “I didn’t write any of that. I mean I did, technically, but I’m not the author.”

Dean found it beyond creepy. Closer to dark magic than most of what he’d seen from her. And the implications made it worse: she invited ghosts into the house—possibly into her body or mind—and let them have control. Nevermind how dangerous that was, but it seemed stupid. Not worth the chicken scratch she got out of it. Certainly not worth bringing potentially evil forces into a house full of sleeping and unsuspecting people.

“You didn’t think you should run this by anyone?” Dean sounded defensive because he was. The people he cared about were put at risk.

She shrugged. “None of you would’ve let me do it. But you know you need me to do shit like this. Dirty work. Questionable methods. You wanna make sure this thing doesn’t gut Sam in front of you, then you need my skills to prevent it.” She didn’t hold back just because of his illness. If anything, she thought a little fear would be helpful for the mission, provided he could hold himself together otherwise. Pointing at the board, “The Other is a shapeshifting fire god known for incredible beauty and deception. It kills people for fun.”

Dean backed up and used a chair to support himself. “What else?”

“It doesn’t know it can hurt the three of you directly because it doesn’t fully understand the resurrection process. When it couldn’t destroy you on the day you came back, it assumed you were immune. That’s why it sent Anguish. That’s why it will probably send more creatures. And God help us if and when it figures out the protection was only temporary.”

She strode up to him and made eye contact. “I don’t need you to trust me,” she continued. “I don’t need you to feel comfortable with how I get things done. But spare your judgement. You asked for my help.”

“Maybe we didn’t know what we were asking for.”

“Like hell!” When she realized how loud that was, she lowered her voice. “Lying doesn’t look good on you, Dean Winchester. You and I both know you would do anything to keep your lovers safe, well and truly beyond inviting me here. And you already know what’s in my spell book. You know that I will use whatever I deem necessary to get the job done. It’s what you would do.” She cleared her throat. “The ghosts were friendly, anyway. They were some of the people who brought you back.”

He wanted to be angry, but he simply didn’t have the energy for it. Plus, she was right. It might be a symptom of his illness, but Dean _was_ willing to do anything to protect them. Rosa—and her less than ethical methods—didn’t even compare to the lengths he would go if he had to.

In that way, he understood why Cas tried to leave with Crowley all those years back, because it was for the same reason. To try and protect them. Security meant dealing with devils, meant sacrificing morality for peace of mind.

“They died for you and for their god, and they still want to help,” she said quietly. “I think they even helped me contact the Living Tree in the first place.”

Dean could feel a headache forming. “Did they say how we can fight it?”

“I don’t think they know.”

“Shit.”

She patted his arm. “We have more information now than we did before. We can build on this. Try not to be such a downer.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Wasn’t that his thing now? Being pessimistic and miserable? He pointed to his head. “Yeah, well…” But beyond his illness, their information on the Other didn’t amount to much. He knew his brother was in danger, even before they did anything to wake up some kid. Much of the panic and trepidation he felt could easily be seen as warranted.

Sighing, Rosa slipped into the chair that supported his weight and stared at the sum of her work. There might be more clues inside the scribbles, but it would take a fresh look in the morning to decipher them. “I’d ask you how you’re doing, but I think you’re probably sick of that by now. Like how people will keep asking after someone you care about dies. It makes them feel better because they can’t help.”

“I’m not doing well.”

She turned to him with sympathy in her expression. “I know. While the three of you were gone, I’ve managed to pick up a few more skills, or at least hone ones I already had. I’m no empath like Sam, but I can sense things a little better now. You’re… _misaligned._ ”

“Damaged?” He stopped short of rolling his eyes.

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Your soul doesn’t think it belongs in your body, and it wants out. Like rejecting a transplanted organ. The shock of returning to so much pain and discomfort created a rift inside you. Not only are you dealing with PTSD—a battle difficult enough on its own—but you probably feel _off_ , too. Like this isn’t real. Like you’re not standing on stable ground. Right?”

He shifted his weight. “I dunno.” After a moment to think it over, “Say you’re right, what the hell do I do about it?”

“You’re already doing it. Getting help. Those awful sessions are major steps toward ridding yourself of all that pain. And I know they’re awful. They must be. But this step is necessary for the symptoms to be healed in a more permanent way. With less pain, your soul will feel more comfortable, more willing to accept its situation.” She sat back in the chair a little. “You just have to be patient. You still have those pills I gave you?”

He nodded. “Haven’t taken any, though.”

“You should. Sedation is necessary sometimes. If you were having your appendix out, you wouldn’t want them to do it without anesthesia. Think about it like that.” She kept her gaze on him. “Taking medicine isn’t weakness, Dean, and neither is having pain. You’d do well to treat yourself as kindly as Sam and Cas treat you.”

Not likely to happen, he thought. Dean didn’t believe he deserved their near-obsessive devotion, though he certainly appreciated it. And he needed it more often than not, especially since he started losing control. But to apply that same love to himself? Even if he knew how—even if he wanted to—he didn’t have the energy. It was a vicious cycle. The illness exhausted him, which made it difficult to take care of himself, which allowed the symptoms to get worse.

“You’re going to have to bid farewell to that self-loathing,” she continued. “If you look inside yourself, do you even feel it anymore? Or is it just a habit you’re used to? By now, Sam must’ve taken out most of the cause, right? But your body and your head spent a lot of time with that shit. You not only grew up with it, but you grew _around_ it. You were shaped by pain. Even with the cause gone—hell, even with the symptoms treated—you’ll still have to redefine who you are. You need to decide what kind of man you want to be, Dean.”

He gritted his teeth. “How the hell am I supposed to know who I am? Where do I start and this fucking sickness ends, huh? Everything I am can be tied to this thing.”

“Not everything,” she returned in a soft voice. “Start with what you know. Cas. Sam. Your reputation for courage, and your skills at fighting. And even some of the traits the disease might have brought out in you, like selflessness, can be kept so long as the cause changes. Now, if you ask me, I’d say that that one would’ve been there anyway. PTSD just made you forget yourself. It convinced you that you don’t have value, that you are nothing without it. What would you do if someone spoke to Sam like that?”

“I’d fucking kill them.”

She smiled. “Yes, you would. So, how do you think he feels, knowing that someone gets to talk to you that way? It may be coming from your own head, but you didn’t put it there. It isn’t you. If not for yourself, then for him. For both of them. Tell it to fuck off.”

“Easier said than done,” he pointed out. “They’ve been telling me that for years, and it hasn’t worked yet. I just don’t—I don’t buy it.”

But Rosa would not be so easily swayed, certainly not after a successful spell, which provided a giant boost to her ego. She hadn’t planned on a late-night heart-to-heart with the least emotionally forthcoming member of the trio, but it wasn’t beyond her skillset. “No, the disease doesn’t buy it. All the events that made you sick also made you think you were worthless.” She suspected that John Winchester had specifically told him that, probably all the time, but she didn’t know enough to be sure. “Take away the power of those memories, and they can’t control you anymore.”

Forgoing a chair, he simply sat on the floor next to her. “You really think those pills are gonna get me that control back?”

“Yes, if only because you have to believe you deserve to take them in order to physically ingest them.” She rested her hand on the top of his head for just a few seconds. “Once you get to that point, or you get desperate—either way—then you can start to think you deserve other things. Like happiness.” Letting him go, “And the drugs will actually make you feel better for a while, which I think is a plus.”

“Yeah.”

Rosa craned her neck a little and noticed a bit of orange plastic sticking out of his pocket. “You’ve been carrying them around with you.” Not a question. “Has that helped? Knowing you have the option?”

“I dunno. Probably.” He hadn’t had a panic attack since she gave them to him.

“That’s good. You’ll find they’re even more effective when you actually put them in your body.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to bed. You should do the same. Like with any illness, you need rest to recover.” She left him before getting a response.

Dean sat there for a little while. He pulled out the bottle and re-read every word on the label. Eventually, he convinced himself that at minimum nobody needed to know if he took one. Slowly, he rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, removed the cotton, and selected one of the of the pills. It could be broken in half for a lower dose, but at this point he was curious if a whole one would actually help. He popped it into his mouth and gulped down the water.

It left a bitter taste. He drank more until it passed. With the deed done, he stood in the dark, staring at the empty glass. Eventually, Dean paced to the back of the house and sat on the sofa, in the exact spot he’d been when Anguish attacked for the last time. He didn’t want to go back upstairs quite yet. Staring out into the night, he lost himself in thought.


	25. Turn the Page

He awoke to the bright morning sun shining in his face. Drowsy. Confused. “Shit.” He’d fallen asleep on the couch, thanks to his excursion into prescription chemicals. As his eyes refocused, he realized Cas stood before him, and that he’d likely shaken Dean awake. He gulped “Hey.”

Puzzled and concerned, the angel gripped a large mug of tea with both hands. “Are you okay? Why are you down here?”

“Sorry, I—I couldn’t sleep, and then I must’ve passed out down here.”

The answer didn’t satisfy him. “Do you feel better sleeping down here?” He remembered reading that a lot of army vets did that when they got home. They couldn’t sleep in their own beds. They often ended up on the couch.

But Dean shook his head. Rubbing his eyes, “No. Absolutely not.” Though he certainly felt more rested, he didn’t think the location had anything to do with it.

“Sweetheart…”

“I’m serious.” But the look of worry didn’t leave his face. Honesty, then. It didn’t make sense to hide things from him, anyway. “Cas, I—uh—I took something, to help me sleep. I guess I just didn’t know how fast it would work.”

Relief. He took a tentative sip of his tea. “Like what? Chamomile?”

It took him a moment to get over his embarrassment at revealing this secret. “No. Umm, Xanax.”

Cas’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Rosa said she thought it would help, with the attacks. And that some people take it to sleep. That she, uh, she took it to try and sleep.” He moved into a sitting position. His neck hurt from falling asleep at a weird angle, though apparently, he curled up around a pillow at some point during the night. He felt drunk, like some of the medicine was still in his system.

He pondered the revelation for a little while, staring into his mug and biting into his lower lip. Then, “She always has what people need.”

“Are you mad?”

Cas seemed surprised by the question. “No, of course not.” He let out a soft laugh. “I never thought I’d get you to take anything. I didn’t wanna pressure you.” He set his tea down on a table and sat next to his lover. “You needed the rest. I’m glad you got it.”

“I’ve had the pills for a while,” Dean admitted. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna take them or not.”

The angel leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You took care of yourself. That’s all that matters. You could’ve told us, sure, but I don’t care that you didn’t. Next time, I’d wander upstairs, though. It’s more comfortable than the couch.”

After a moment of quiet, Cas answered an unspoken question. “Sam’s gonna be so happy.”

“Why?”

“Well, first off, he loves you, and he wants you to feel better. But more than that, you got help without being forced into it. Sam’s gonna heal you whether you like it or not, but it’s so much more awesome that you _want_ to be helped.” He seemed on the verge of tears.

Rosa was right. Taking the pills, even temporarily, didn’t just dope him up. It was a step toward personal growth. He could wrangle this illness if he took a real role in fighting it. Sam would still do a giant chunk of the labor, with Cas assisting whenever possible, but at the end of the day, the decisions Dean made would stake out his future. “You two can’t be the only ones working on this.”

“We would’ve managed.”

Dean had to smile at that. Though he gave tacit acceptance of the process, they probably would’ve still done it under protest. Group decision. Rid Dean of his demons, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t provide any assistance. “Yeah. But this is my battle.”

Cas took up his hand and held it in both of his own. “We’re here to make sure you don’t fight it alone.” Another kiss. Switching gears, “Want some breakfast?”

It was mid-morning. The group thought he needed the sleep, and probably felt the strangeness of his location had something to do with his illness.

Technically, it did, he thought.

As it turned out, Sam was equally overjoyed. He hugged Dean emphatically, and kissed him in front of everyone, an act that made the older Winchester blush. He might have been okay with being open, but they usually weren’t that physically close even near Bobby. Seeing Sam happy vanquished any concern he had, however. He was so certain they would be upset with him.

The others were hard at work deciphering Rosa’s late-night pen pal session. Some of the “words” were more like jumbled letters, an unfortunate consequence of trying to speak through the veil between life and death, she said. Other things were repeated. For instance, the word “fire” was written at least a dozen times. Dean stared at the board as the other researchers worked around him.

“Why does it say ‘rain’?” he asked after a few minutes of studying.

Rosa lifted her head from a notebook. Blinking, “Where do you see that?”

He pointed toward the bottom left corner. “I mean, it’s r-a-e-n, but when you say it out loud, that’s ‘rain,’ right? Seems important.”

The witch scrambled to her feet and quickly joined him by the board. There was another misspelled word nearby, one that now made a lot more sense. “Difiit.” Defeat. Specifically, “Defeat of rain.” To Rosa, that could mean a couple things. One, that the Other defeated a water god, or two, that a water god could defeat the Other. But in a battle between water and fire, water usually won. Even boiling liquid didn’t destroy it, only change it.

She knew from a very specific story that her friends had met a water god before. With awful results. It aided in the war against angels, meddled in the trio’s lives, and generally fucked things up for them. Alternatively, they knew a lot about that god. Including its name, its habits, and how to contact the angel who colluded with it.

This was another situation that her friends wouldn’t like. Dean especially. But by the way she understood it, the other two, along with Bobby and Ellen, would absolutely hate the idea, too. She had to approach the subject carefully. “I think we need a water elemental to kill the Other,” she declared.

“Where do we find one of those?” asked Bobby.

“We summon one.”

Frank snorted. “You got a buddy we don’t know about? And what the hell is an elemental?”

“She means a god,” Sam pointed out. “A water god.” But he had no idea what she had cooked up. Or how she could contact something they knew even less about than the Other.

Slowly, she decided on which words to use. “You already know—”

But Dean cut her off. “No! Fuck no. Don’t even say it.”

“You can’t be serious,” came from Bobby.

“You met an impossibly powerful water goddess that claims to have helped create mankind. You know her name, which is usually all I would need to contact her. If she can help—”

But Dean set his hand on her shoulder. “You can’t contact that thing.” When she glared at him, “Not that you shouldn’t, but you can’t. That creature hates angels more than she hates us. Like, to a genocidal level. She thinks they’re abominations. That’s why she got involved in the war. She damn near killed Cas just for existing.” In a lower voice, “What do you think she would do to you?”

She lifted her head. Unsure if she should be angry or even defiant, Rosa feigned apathy. “It’s just one option.”

“It’s a damn stupid one,” Bobby said bluntly. He didn’t necessarily dislike the girl—she was family, too, by proxy—but he never wanted to hear from that monster again. He didn’t like knowing that it was still out there. And he remembered the consequences of its involvement in their lives all too well. “Find something else.”

Rosa nodded slowly and stepped away from Dean. “There are other water gods. I’ll find a friendlier one.” Or find a way to talk to Yemaya, without getting torn apart. Supposedly, this thing had enough power to lend to Cas, allowing him to kill an archangel and wound another. She could only imagine what it might do in person. “In the meantime, we should assume that water may be a deterrent.”

The group agreed, though of course Frank had a million questions. Maybe later he could get some information from one of them about what went down.

Dean didn’t trust that Rosa would listen to his warning. She pretty much did what she wanted, with caution being a tertiary concern at best. He’d keep an eye on her. If Yemaya reentered the picture, she would be a threat to everyone here, but especially the trio and Rosa. Sam didn’t have angel power when he met her. There was no telling how she would react to sensing it now. And Dean with his wings might be even worse. All four of them were an uncomfortable mixture of angel and human. They were everything that goddess despised.

Carefully, he flexed his wings a little, as a reminder that they were still there. They felt like Cas, but they were a part of him, too. He could hardly remember a time when he didn’t have them. Or he just didn’t want to think about it. Sam loved his power easily as much, and Cas just wanted to feel human. Rosa had no choice in her role, but she certainly used it to her advantage. Regardless, that creature wouldn’t care.

The conversation was loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, where Cas and Ellen sat in silence. They looked at each other with worry and fear. Ellen remembered the most awkward part of their dealings with Yemaya—the part where Cas lost his damn mind. The angel understood how she felt, as he knew how long it took to earn the Singers’ trust again. “That thing can’t come here,” she warned.

He nodded. “No, it can’t.”

“What if it does?”

They both knew Rosa well. She wasn’t fooling anyone by seeming to quickly change her mind. If she felt she could get a hold of the goddess without certain demise, she would probably try it. He didn’t have a good answer for Ellen. They could not fight Yemaya with anything they had, not even Rosa’s magic. “We’ll deal with it, as much as possible,” he said softly. “Let’s just try to prevent it, first.”

“She’s your friend,” Ellen pointed out. “Your responsibility.”

Cas gave another slow nod. “I’ll do what I can. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, up to and including myself.” His time living in Philly and then in the Kingdom boosted his self-worth. He’d made mistakes, but he cared about himself now. He knew he had to in order to be the best partner to Dean and Sam. And they loved him, pretty much unconditionally. How could he argue with that? “We’d all be in serious danger.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

***

The next few days focused on narrowing down candidates for healing. There were so many kids. They scratched ones off the list that got into comas from extended illness. Everything else was fair game, even car accidents. They had no idea _how_ the kid was attacked, just that he or she was essentially murdered and then brought back to life partially. A child that flatlined in a hospital would make a good possibility, and one with burns might be even more likely. Still, there were dozens of them. And the search continued as they waded into non-English news outlets.

Bobby and Rosa each knew a handful of languages, and Cas knew at least thirty fluently, with fragments of others. Though the angel wasn’t really on research duty, Sam employed him for a couple hours now and then. It wasn’t a bad excuse to sit close together. They tried to stay on track, but love provided an occasional distraction.

Dean’s usefulness in this part of the search waned as he only understood a little Spanish—mostly from telenovelas and Rosa cursing. Obviously, the native speaker was a better choice, and several of the others could hold their own. Sam had a gisted understanding of a few more, enough to read headlines.

But he kept watch and helped with more menial tasks. He picked up the slack when Cas was busy. And he tried to focus on himself, to make sure his recovery was on track.

To be honest, he still felt like shit. Depression came in waves, and he felt anxious pretty much all the time. He could sense that the trauma didn’t have as big of a hold on him, but he couldn’t get out of the haze. He couldn’t shake the familiar pain. Taking a few steps back from the edge of a cliff wouldn’t get him off the mountain.

At least not yet.

Sam gave him some space after the last memory session. Even though he promised the final one would be a lot easier, he didn’t want to overwhelm his soulmate. Dean needed to regather his strength between the treatments. After the traumatic events were neutralized, the healer could go back to work on his symptoms.

But Dean wanted to expedite the process. He grabbed Sam on his way back to the research room after dinner and kissed him. “I wanna do the next part.”

Surprised, Sam pulled him close. “You sure? We can wait.”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna wait. I, uh—I can’t wait any longer, Sammy.” He leaned against him, touching his warm skin. “I need it gone.”

Sam hesitated and then smiled. His brother wasn’t just impatient. He wrestled with the illness, and even though he was winning, he feared he might not. But his insistence on continuing proved he had more control than he realized. He kissed Dean back. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They headed upstairs unceremoniously. They didn’t tell anyone whether it was healing or something more physical. Hell, if the session wasn’t too difficult, it might be both. Dean hadn’t been very interested in intimacy lately, at least not much beyond a kiss now and then and some closeness. Neither of his companions blamed him. Dealing with all that awfulness, it was surprising how much he still accomplished. He managed to function to an extent. But sex? He couldn’t focus long enough for that. And the depression took away his drive.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Sam hoped that cutting the final strings of trauma might help a little in that department. He certainly wouldn’t pressure him. Not even close. But he thought that a roll in the hay might provide its own healing, if he felt up to it.

But first things first.

The two climbed onto the bed and moved into a familiar position facing each other. Like every time before, Sam cupped Dean’s face in both hands, looked into his eyes, and tried to reassure him that things would be okay. But this time, Sam would not control the search. It required no prompting. Just energy earmarked with a specific purpose: find and destroy any remaining pain spikes amongst the rest of Dean’s troublesome memories.

Sam couldn’t think of every horrible thing that happened to his soulmate, and he wasn’t present for a lot of it, anyway. If it worked correctly, the energy would search his mind like a hard drive, pulling any bad files and uncorrupting the data. Only the damaging ones would really be experienced, but at a distance. Dulled. Like watching a movie inside his own head.

He got to maintain his agency, and he wouldn’t forget where he really was.

“We’ll start from right now and go backwards,” he explained. “I know we got most of it, but this will make absolutely sure.”

He pressed his forehead into Sam’s. “I trust you.”

With that, he sent the energy in.

Dean caught only brief glimpses of his life for a while. Nothing from after their resurrection, not even the various attacks by Anguish. And nothing from their life in Philly at first. But then it slowed down. The moment he decided that the only way to ensure Cas joined them in paradise was to shoot himself and go have a chat with Gabriel. Though he did it to himself, and though his PTSD probably played a big role in it happening in the first place, the act apparently damaged him. Before he could think about it, the pain was gone, and his life sped up again.

A few seemingly random hunts got the same treatment. Though he watched them, he couldn’t see any reason why they would stick out above the others. But maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe he just felt less secure those days, or his father gave him a particularly hard time beforehand. Regardless, he felt a tug when the soothing cold rushed in and calmed those moments.

The next one was a shock. It was Sam, drunk, at a haunted bed and breakfast. Oh, he knew this moment well, though he didn’t even remotely understand it at the time. His brother didn’t know they were soulmates then, but on some level, he _felt_ it, and that feeling led to a taboo attraction. He kept it under wraps for God knows how long. Ignored it whenever possible. But he had too much to drink. Way too much. And he made a pass at Dean.

He watched himself push Sam away, saw as he collapsed on the bed and passed out. The event itself wasn’t the source of pain, however. It was how he beat himself up over it later. Though he wouldn’t really admit it to himself for years, he felt momentarily exhilarated. Excited. Happy. The soulmate bond made sure of that, but at the time? He felt disgusting. Perverted. And a failure. What kind of monster got off on their intoxicated little brother trying to kiss them?

Dean spent the whole night hating himself at first and then convincing himself that it was just surprise. That he was tired. Embarrassed. As Sam’s healing power flooded in to wipe the slate clean, he saw himself pretend like nothing happened the next morning. And he would keep pretending until the truth came out much later.

The fact that their second encounter—the real one—wasn’t part of his mental slideshow spoke volumes about the difference. When Sam kissed him then, he didn’t hate himself. Not really. He felt complete. He felt whole.

A series of more hunts followed, all when he was still a kid. The pressure to keep them safe. In one scene, his small hands held a shotgun much too big for them, and he spent so much energy keeping it from shaking, or else his father would see he couldn’t handle it. The first time he killed a creature that looked human also made an appearance.

An argument between Bobby and John popped up. It was about Sam. The older hunter saw a chance to let him just be a kid. He liked soccer. He did well in school. He wanted to have the youngster stay with him on a more permanent basis. As for his brother? Bobby didn’t see as much hope for that. Dean already looked and acted like a little soldier, painfully loyal to a man who didn’t deserve it. While the pain of this moment could have come from fear of leaving Sam, that wasn’t the case. He _wanted_ Sam to stay. Even though it hurt. He _wanted_ his brother to be safe and happy.

He didn’t dare say anything about it, though. There were no group decisions with their father, and any opinion expressed would risk punishment, especially one that openly defied him.

Part of him wished he had, anyway.

When they inevitably left with a dejected young Sam, Dean’s heart broke. _That_ was traumatic. The cooling power found the parts that tormented him and filled them in. It said without saying anything that those events were in the past. Sam was fine and happier than ever. He probably didn’t even remember that day, and if he did, it didn’t bother him. Now it couldn’t bother Dean.

A few arguments with John or between him and their mother reared their ugly heads, but the healing addressed them almost instantaneously. And then it was over.

He blinked. None of that hurt even half as much as most of the individual memories they worked on. In celebration, he gave Sam a long, passionate kiss and wrapped his arms around him. A confirmation of how much had changed for the better. He fell back on the bed and took Sam with him. They kissed for more than half an hour before Dean began clumsily removing articles of clothing. When nothing remained between them, the real fun began.


	26. Into the Fire

The usual wince at the first push was almost entirely avoided by how aroused Dean felt. More often than not, Sam took the lead in their exchanges, and both men very much enjoyed it that way. It took no verbal communication to get them here. Just some rummaging in the nightstand for lubrication. But their connection could never be described as routine. Every time was different. Every kiss or thrust or touch maintained a sort of newness. They felt special. And in Dean’s hands, Sam’s skin was electric. Hot and smooth. His muscles rolled beneath his touch, and his near-perfect rhythm easily brought Dean to ecstasy.

Dean closed his eyes as his soulmate kissed his neck. Sam gripped his forearm with one hand and used the other to lift one leg. The slight change in angle meant he could go deeper. He felt his him tighten, which only served to increase Sam’s own enjoyment.

They moved together, with a soundtrack of heavy breathing and slow moans. As each got closer to the end, Dean gripped as his back in anticipation. He could barely think. For a few moments at least, he didn’t know his problems. He didn’t feel anything but Sam. The heat. The carefully applied pressure. The undeniably fantastic sensation of Sam’s thighs hitting the back of his own.

For his part, Sam had more than enough energy left to pull his new favorite trick. He watched carefully as Dean edged toward the inevitable. Only when he finally came—every nerve on fire and each muscle locked in place—did Sam follow suit. He could have climaxed a few moments earlier, but he used his power to hold back. Just until Dean got there first. And then he allowed it, increasing both of their pleasure through an almost simultaneous shared reaction.

No other human could do it. Just Sam. And he delighted in the accomplishment. It increased his partners’ satisfaction almost as much as it did his. He dropped next to Dean and smiled at him. His soulmate returned the gesture, and for a few minutes they lay together, content to think of nothing but how great they felt.

Eventually, the two headed to the bathroom for an impromptu shower, which provided a second opportunity to touch each other and remain close. When finished, they returned to the room and got back in bed. They made no attempt at getting dressed and barely covered themselves with a sheet—and even then, it was only because the house had a bit of a draft.

They were well on their way to taking a nap together when the door to their room burst open. They hadn’t locked it on the way back from cleaning up. A mild error considering everyone already knew about their relationship. Dean moved first. “Cas, what’s—”

But it wasn’t their angel. Silhouetted in the light from the hallway was Bobby, of all people, and he looked horrified. Sam quickly grabbed a blanket to make certain they were covered. “Bobby?” he asked the figure.

While his eyes did study the two of them—he hadn’t exactly been exposed to this level of their relationship—he wasn’t there for a peep show. “We have company,” he said quickly. “All hands on deck. Get dressed.” He stepped back away from the room and looked down the stairs. “There’s at least two dozen of them.”

Dean quickly reached for a pair of pants from the floor and slid into them without much skin coming into view. Partially clothed, he tossed a shirt and jeans at Sam before grabbing some shoes.

Sitting up, Sam ignored the garments for the moment. “What do you mean, ‘them’?”

“Them!” Bobby shot back. “I don’t know who the hell they are, boy. They ain’t got name tags. But I’d bet my hat they’re friends of our new pal the Other, since they’re all dressed in red robes, and they look like they wanna gank us. So, hurry the hell up!” He took off down the stairs, and the brothers saw that he had at least two firearms on his person.

Dean found the angel sword in a drawer near the bed, along with a basic 9mm handgun. When his companion made no move to get dressed, “Let’s go.”

“I’m the reason they’re here,” he replied quietly.

Breathing out, Dean stopped in his tracks. “Maybe, but it’s not your fault. C’mon, Sammy. We have to help.”

It took a few more moments of indecision before he got up and climbed into his clothes. He had several concerns. One, that everybody was now in danger, two, that he hadn’t really done any physical fighting in a long time, and three, that if he died it would all be over. They wouldn't be able to help anyone. And his lovers would almost certainly lose the will to fight. The only consolation was that it seemed their foes might be human (or human-adjacent). Unlikely to destroy anyone’s soul energy, just the bodies that held them.

Still. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to watch anyone in the house die. But they most certainly had a worse shot if he refused to help. And anyway, he could never let Dean and Cas take on evil without him. So, he hurried. Dean tossed him the gun, and they rushed downstairs.

The two peered out the nearest window and found their foes. It was more like three dozen, and they all stood in a perfect arch—possibly a circle—around the building. Their attire, dyed in a mix of bright and dark reds, looked to be a weird mix between that of a Buddhist monk and some cheesy warlock costumes from bad 70s movies. Velvet, exaggerated cuffs on one arm and the other left bare. On the open skin, Dean thought he saw tattoos, also in red, but he couldn’t make out what they were supposed to be.

As for the people themselves, they were all men. Close cropped hair but not bald. The youngest had to be in his mid-thirties, and the eldest was closer to fifty. Most were East Asian, but others were white, black, and Middle Eastern. Each stood motionless, with one hand halfway outstretched, empty palms upward, and the other at their sides, holding a large curved dagger.

Nothing particularly inhuman stood out about their appearance. They didn’t have strange eyes or skin or anything else. And they certainly weren’t angels, or Dean would have heard them arrive.

They looked like a cult.

An assumption many of the others made, as well. If the Living Tree had followers, why wouldn’t its enemy? And since Anguish found them eventually, it was only a matter of time before people did, too.

“They haven’t moved since they got here,” Rosa whispered, making Dean jump. He didn’t notice her approach. She pulled both Winchesters away from the window.

“How’d they get in? Doesn’t Bobby have this place locked down?” Sam asked nervously.

She snorted. “They _appeared_.” Visibly angry, she pressed herself up against the hallway wall. “I think the Other transported them here. They’re just humans, but they might be mages, too. I don’t like the way they’re standing.” Particularly the outstretched arms. Like they were holding something none of them could see, or they would be at any moment. She didn’t want to guess what it could be.

“What are they waiting for?” Dean asked, still trying to look at them through the curtains.

“Us,” said Frank from the windowless research room. When they approached him, the three saw he was surrounded by weapons. Guns, knives, smoke grenades. As he spoke, he continued to load a heavy rifle. “They want us to do something about their presence, and then they’ll attack us.”

Dean groaned. “And if we just ignore them?”

“We miss the opportunity to take out a few of them right off the bat.” Frank handed the gun off to Rosa, who accepted it with reluctance. Marksmanship was not her specialty. But she already had her sword at the ready, and she planned to use her abilities to their advantage. If they could get a few head shots, she wouldn’t hate the idea.

Before she could ask for the plan, Ellen took the pistol from her. “I got this one,” she said with a stern confidence Rosa hadn’t seen before. “I think you’re better suited up close and personal.”

The witch narrowed her eyes. While she was probably right, the fact that she felt the need to say it made Rosa wonder what her motives were. She knew her presence in the house made the others somewhat uncomfortable. Did this woman want her gone? Or was she just protective over their limited supply of bullets? The lady of the house didn’t exactly seem the vengeful type. But she did carry fear around with her. If Rosa scared her, that might change things.

Now wasn’t the time. “Shooting first,” Rosa compromised. “You all put as many bullets into them as possible, and then I’ll get to work.”

They agreed, and went to inform Bobby and Cas. The angel wasn’t a good shot, either. Not even close. Dean tried to teach him how, but they always ended up doing _other things_ with their time. He would hang back, too. They gave him a knife and a small revolver, and more than hinted that he should avoid direct contact if possible. Once a great fighter, he retained almost none of those skills. The others were his greatest defense.

It took only a few minutes for them to prepare. They barricaded the back of the house, cutting off the sun room, which wouldn’t be defensible with so many windows. The front door received the same treatment. Ellen, Bobby, and Frank took positions at the windows there and carefully selected the easiest shots. Dean went upstairs to do the same. Since he could be down with everyone else with a thought, there was no reason not to use height to their advantage.

Sam picked a long-range rifle with a sight, in order to go after some of the jerks near the side of the house. He didn’t want to betray his location, so he planned to shoot from more than ten feet inside the house, breaking the glass in the process. It was a different approach than the others, who would be seen the moment they opened the windows. But it was the one precision firearm they had, and only Dean would be better at using it than him. Since his brother planned to book it the moment they scattered, Sam gladly took the weapon.

They prepared in silence, with the idea of Sam leading the way—since his gun took the longest to set up. On his first shot, they would open fire, and then Rosa and Dean would engage them in direct combat, with a little help from their ability to fly.

Or at least that was the plan.

The first part worked. He focused on the group standing closest to each other. The guy with the largest skull got the first bullet as Sam carefully squeezed the trigger. He didn’t wait to see the man’s head get blown off before he killed two more. In other parts of the house, a chorus of bullets rang out.

He couldn’t get a decent shot after that, as the strangers ducked down in surprise at seeing their fallen comrades. Dean got one from their bedroom. In the front, however, not a single bullet connected with any of them. There were ricochet noises and a cloud of dust kicked up. But they had some sort of invisible wall protecting them from the majority of their assault.

The three fell back from the front of the house as Rosa stepped forward. Her turn.

Shielding was a surprise, but not as big of a blow as her colleagues probably thought. It wasn’t sustainable, especially when moving around. It likely had holes all over the place, and they might even have to take the protection down to fight her directly. “Bullets will still work,” she called back to them. “Just wait until they’re closer.”

With that, she blew open the front door. Mostly for dramatic effect. These things were still people. They had eyes, and they now would see her, standing behind a door that opened itself.

She strode onto the front porch and looked at the intruders, who had gathered in small groups or taken shelter behind some of the cars. It didn’t take long to confirm her suspicious. Their magic focused on fire—as their god did—and their primary weapon consisted of flames molded into a ball. At least three of the attackers were already prepared to toss them at her, and a few more looked like they may fight with those knives.

With a grin, she raised her sword high and showed them that she had fire of her own. They hesitated, and she took the opening.

She didn’t even need all of her wings for this, so she folded some of them in to reserve energy. With barely a flex of her internal muscles, Rosa left the porch and landed fairly gracefully behind a nearby huddled group. They didn’t even know she was there until she started cutting. Some of the blows hit the shield—and some didn’t. Where she got through, the blade seared into flesh. She heard them scream out in agony as the scent of burned skin filled her nose.

Rosa couldn’t really tell exactly where the weak spots were, but she figured she could make them bigger. Everything was just molecules and energy. She could manipulate both. With all her power and strength, she pushed on the barrier.

And tossed the bad guys in the process.

“Shit,” she muttered as they scrambled in different directions. Only two didn’t survive: one from her sword, the other a broken neck. Still, it was progress. She felt heat racing towards her from the left but easily stopped the attack with more energy, blasting the projectile into nothing. Displeased, she made another jump and stabbed the culprit through the abdomen. Three more received the same treatment.

Inside, Cas found a use for himself that the others never predicted. Among them, he, and only he, could actually look at their energy. One glimpse out a window, and he saw that their protections appeared like swiss cheese, with more holes appearing as time passed. He instructed the three at the front of the house to aim for feet and arms. Ellen got one in the throat before he turned his attentions to Sam.

He hadn’t moved much since the initial kills, trying to save ammo and also find the best shot. Cas rushed over to him and began pointing out weak spots. Just above one of the cars. A rusted one. Near the back seat. They were crouching behind it but not very well.

“Got it,” Sam breathed—and fired.

Direct hit. A gruesome one at that, taking part of the man’s head off and spattering several others with blood and brain matter.

“Where next?” he asked. When Cas didn’t offer up an immediate reply, he repeated the question with a little more urgency. “Where next? Cas, where do I shoot next?”

“Uh, I’m not—” He stopped himself. In all his days of killing as an angel, he never really had to do it as a human. Especially not like this. But he couldn’t have cold feet now. His friends and lovers were in danger. He knew that. And these people wanted to hurt them. “Aim at the ones by the car. They don’t have anything left. Their protections are down.”

Effortlessly, Sam dispatched them one by one, as easily as he could’ve fixed a broken bone or a cold.

By the time their bodies hit the ground, the few remaining interlopers still dumb or unlucky enough to be on that side of the house no longer had any magical cover. “Their defenses are all down.” He couldn’t help but let a little darkness into his voice. Not anger, per say, but a clear uneasiness with what they were doing.

Sam would’ve noticed anyway. Though angel emotions came through a little different than everyone else, he still sensed them. He felt him flinch every time the gun went off.

They could talk about it later. When they were still alive because he did what he had to in order to protect them. He loved Cas. He loved him enough to do this a thousand times over. He loved him enough to ignore the angel’s discomfort at watching people die.

Upstairs, an entirely different story played out. Dean found himself more alarmed at the gunfire than ever, even though any lingering fears about it were soothed away just an hour or so earlier. He told himself what his soulmate told him: that the symptoms needed to be addressed separately. That his body was used to having PTSD. But it didn’t fix his current problem. He could only ignore the sounds while the gun in his hand made them. Once he ran out, he couldn’t take it.

He collapsed to the floor with his back to the couch and covered his ears.

Even that wasn’t quite enough. Beyond what he couldn’t block out, he felt the vibrations as the booming resonated through the house. He found himself crying with no real emotion attached to it. Just panic. All he wanted was for it to stop.

Panic. Through the haze of a paralyzing fear response, Dean remembered what he was supposed to do when he panicked.

The pills were in a pile of clothes a few feet away. He’d forgotten to grab them when the chaos began, but there was no reason he couldn’t take them now. Though it required every ounce of willpower he had, Dean managed to crawl over to their location, pick up the bottle, and pour one into his hand. He used an old glass of water from the night before and swallowed in one gulp. Sitting against the nightstand, he closed his eyes, and waited for the medicine to take effect.

But he didn’t have the luxury. In the minutes that followed, he smelled smoke. For a moment, he thought maybe he was imagining it. An echo of his worst memory. Or maybe just remnants of all the small artillery.

It intensified. He pried himself off the floor. There were no windows in the room facing toward the back of the house, but he didn’t really need to look. Something was on fire.

If he couldn’t shoot, and he couldn’t fight, he could at least help. He sprinted to the bathroom and grabbed a bucket before filling it with water. With a thought, he stood in front of the sun room. He was exposed, but he could always leave again if someone came after him. And the familiar sitting area was already filling with smoke. He yanked open the back door. Some of the blockade items—furniture mostly—made up the majority of the burning part of the house. He dumped water on the closest flames before fetching the hose.

While his attempts were noble, he barely made a dent. “C’mon,” he spoke to the fire. “Seriously?”

The smoke irritated his throat. He stepped back for a moment, and immediately understood what he had to do. The burning debris couldn’t be in the house as it threatened the whole structure and everyone inside it. So, he had to remove the items as quickly as possible.

A couple of chairs were easy. He tossed them as far away as he could and then turned to a heavy cabinet. He soaked it with water, but the interior and its contents still burned. It took all of his physical strength just to make it budge. He couldn’t drag it out from this angle. He had to go inside—with all the smoke—and push. “Fuck.”

Dean took off his shirt, soaked it, and tied it around his face. He sent his body a few feet inside. His eyes watered from irritation, and even with the filter, he couldn’t get enough air. Breaking a window would solve that problem. If he didn’t mind sending the fire into overdrive. Instead, he had to bear it. With both hands and all of his physical strength, he pushed on the cabinet as hard as he could. Inch by inch, it moved until it hit the edge and toppled over into the dirt. He jumped over it and into fresh air.

There were a few more pieces of tinder to worry about, so he removed the sprayer portion of the hose and left it to soak the burning wood and metal.

Back inside, he used the wet shirt as makeshift gloves to pick up burning items and snuff out small fires. It took a while. He had to make certain no embers remained. Even a hot piece of ash could threaten his family. While he searched, he tried to ignore the continuing sounds of firing guns, dulled partially by the house. The sedative helped a little. He felt no less frightened by it, but somehow he didn’t react. He didn’t lose it.

Unfortunately, as time went on, he felt more and more drugged. Groggy. Even a little dizzy. He shouldn’t have taken so much. A whole one put him out last time. Half would’ve been better.

Too late now. He struggled to his feet, confident that the room wouldn’t burn any further. When he looked out at the smoldering remains of his efforts, he realized he wasn’t alone. A single zealot stood across from the pile of burnt out furniture. Older guy. He had especially dark eyes, albeit still human, and he looked angry that his work was thwarted. Flames hovered above one of his hands.

And Dean was unarmed. Neither PTSD nor Xanax let him think particularly well under pressure. His empty gun and more importantly the angel sword were both upstairs. He didn’t know how well he could fly with a clouded head, but he didn’t really have a choice.

He retrieved the sword as quickly as he could before returning to the scene—in the time it took his enemy to get maybe five steps toward the house. He slashed at the air with the powerful weapon. “Get the fuck back,” he ordered.

The man said nothing. He took a careful step forward to test Dean’s resolve.

“I said get back,” he growled.

His foe paused and looked down at his own fingers, seeming to play with the fire without burning himself. He remained silent for a long time before finally speaking. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked inquisitively. “I see the power you possess, but you can barely stand. Has using your abilities tired you so completely that you don’t dare attack me?” he laughed.

Dean blinked slowly. He had to fight the urge to sleep. Only adrenaline prevented it, and even then, it felt like a losing battle. And using his wings so much didn’t help. He steadied himself on the door frame and tried to keep the sword from shaking. He had no believable answer to the question.

A voice from behind him broke the uneasy silence. “Get down,” she commanded.

He ducked just in time. As the stranger readied an attack with fire, Ellen beat him to the punch with a sawed-off shotgun. Two rounds, right into the guy’s stomach. It took a moment, but the jerk fell to the ground and died shortly after. Once again, a Singer saved his life, and the rest of them, too.


	27. I Won’t Back Down

Though he wanted to thank her, his body had other ideas. He found himself unable to stand, crouching in unwarranted fear thanks to the blast.

She almost told him to get his ass up. But she knew from conversations with Cas that this wasn’t a temporary lapse in courage. It was a reaction to a loud noise. Nothing else. And he couldn’t help it. She walked up to him and scanned the area. No other intruders lurked nearby, as most of the fight still raged up front, and they couldn’t go to either side. Sam had the area covered on the left and a physical blockade of scrap metal stopped their advancement to the right.

Satisfied, she offered her hand to the trembling man—who reminded her of a child in this moment. It took him a while to even notice her offer and even longer to accept it. She tried to be patient. When he finally rose to his feet with her help, she breathed a sigh of relief. They strode back into the house, past the lingering smell of burnt wood and carpet.

Ellen knew by the scene and the extinguished fire that Dean had helped substantially. She was happy she decided to check the barricade when she did. Once inside the main part of the house, she deposited him into a chair in the main room. “You stay put, now,” she instructed. “You did your part, and you don’t look so good.”

He hated the idea of being out of the fight so quickly, and he didn’t even do much in his opinion. Putting out the fire and killing a couple guys didn’t add up to even half the work everyone else accomplished. He had no doubt the bodies were piling up, especially with Rosa on the front lines and a roar of gunfire to accompany her. The very careful, extremely recognizable rumbles from the high-powered rifle showed that Sam wasn’t hesitating in the slightest. Dean knew every single bullet hit its intended target, either in a kill shot or close to it. Sam, the hunter, would accept nothing less. As for Cas? He had no doubt that his angel found a way to be deeply involved in their success.

Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t really protest. His misstep with the dosage threatened unconsciousness, and he could not fight it for much longer.

Before he could pass out, Cas appeared at his side. He inspected Dean’s hands—covered in soot and small cuts—and his clothes, which received the same damage. He rubbed at Dean’s cheek with his sleeve. And he smiled down at him. “We can take it from here,” was the last thing he heard before drifting off.

Outside, the battle continued. With Rosa bouncing around the property like a supercharged flea, the others had to be more careful with their shots. Most of the remaining combatants were in hiding, occasionally lobbing a fireball at the witch from various points in the yard. Bobby stopped shooting entirely, choosing to wait until an opportunity presented itself. Ellen fired at the hiding spots, occasionally clipping an arm or other non-lethal body part. Frank, on the other hand, decided to leave the relative safety of the house.

The air was cold, and puddles from a recent rainfall ran red with blood. The nearest vehicles—including the useable ones—were all riddled with bullet holes, casualties of friendly fire. The interior of a Mustang burned, with smoke bellowing out of broken windows. All around him, damaged and mangled bodies lay where they fell. The ones caused by Rosa were the grisliest. She enjoyed killing. That much was clear to everyone. She took pleasure in ridding the world of anyone she considered a threat or an enemy. And she accomplished the task with terrifying efficiency.

Most of the kills out here were hers, Frank noted. Broken bones so severe that the corpses looked twisted. Limbs hacked off. Gigantic stab wounds burned around the edges. The hunter didn’t look too closely, but only a handful, at least in the front of the house, seemed to have died from bullets. He hoped to improve that number.

He caught a few glimpses of the girl as he walked out into the open. Mostly a blur. She seemed to work at a sonic speed, her greatest disadvantage being that the remaining bad guys were pretty good at hiding. On this, Frank had a skill the others didn’t. He knew, as cops knew, how to adequately clear an area, just as he could with the rooms in a building. He immediately took a right turn and walked until he found a natural corner in the piles of scrap metal. From there, he began sweeping the yard, giving careful attention to any place that could contain something the size of a human being.

By the time he reached the halfway point—the front door—he’d killed two hidden suspects. One in a trunk and one crouching near a wheel well. Single shot to the top of the head. Clean. Simple. Relatively painless. By now, it seemed they were mostly just scared. They’d been dropped off in a death trap. No way out. Their powers, however frightening, weren’t potent over long periods of time. Any living one would certainly still be dangerous, and likely emboldened by seeing his comrades killed so viciously, but he could practically smell the fear on them. Either through volunteering or obligation, these men signed up for something they didn’t understand. And they were massacred for it.

Of course, he couldn’t let them live, either. An interrogation might be nice if they couldn’t burn things at will. Even without enough juice, these men were essentially terrorists. And there was always a chance one might be reserving some power for a situation exactly like that—to at least take out one of their enemies before dying for his cause.

As he began the second half of his careful clearing of the property, Frank caught a glimpse of Rosa in the corner of his eye. He turned to see her. She stood in the middle of it all, drenched in blood and breathing heavy. Her shoulders rose and fell dramatically, and her head drooped. Her magic sword was held just far enough from her body to cause no damage to her person. A quick check showed that she had no major injuries. A handful of dagger cuts, perhaps one deep enough to require stitches, and a small burn on her shoulder. She said nothing and didn’t seem to notice his presence.

He had a job to do, so he did it. There were only three more. Two were huddled together just out of reach of Sam’s rifle—an area Rosa was smart enough to avoid by merit of self-preservation. They were using the refuse as camouflage. If the girl couldn’t see them, she couldn’t attack them. Frank had to injure one of them first, as he was immediately charged. The other was already immobilized by a broken leg. Both went down easily enough.

The last—and he was certain it was the last—put up his hands in surrender. Not once in his career as an officer did Frank ever shoot a man in this position. He knew many men who had, and they didn’t lose sleep over it. But he couldn’t kill an unarmed perp, no matter what he thought he knew about the events leading up to an arrest.

But he wasn’t a cop anymore. And while this guy didn’t have his knife, at least not in view, he wasn’t weaponless. Frank tilted his head to one side and fired. The wet thud he heard after was unmistakable.

He let the gun drop to his side and headed back for the house. By then, Rosa had made it to the porch but collapsed to her hands and knees from exhaustion. The sword no longer glowed, as it required her own energy to stay heated. He walked up to her and looked down. “Rough day?”

She scoffed. “Fuck you, Frank.”

***

Cleanup was intense, to say the least. There were actually forty bodies total, and they were all full-grown men. Just moving them was back-breaking labor. Two piles were made to burn them, along with some trash to try and conceal the smell. But another fifteen or so were buried across the property. And the remains after open-air cremation would go the same route.

Their weapons were gathered. Some would be kept for study and use as weapons, but the rest would be melted down to replenish their depleted bullet supply. Shell casings were collected, too, mostly by Cas and Ellen. Any lingering fires were extinguished. Bobby set about boarding up the windows damaged by fire and Sam’s marksmanship while Frank checked the bodies for anything useful. No IDs to speak of, or anything that could tie names to them. The “tattoos” were a kind of drawing or war paint made from what appeared to be blood. He snapped a few photos of the most intact ones for later use in research.

Another cold rain complicated things further. It arrived after the pyres but before the burials. Since mud was heavier than dirt, the task became that much more difficult.

Several members of the group could only help in limited ways. Ellen sure as hell wasn’t going to dig graves, but at least she could feed and care for the ones who did. Dean mostly tapped out during the fight for various reasons, but he could work a shovel. He seemed happy to focus on something simple. Cas and Sam gave a go at it, too. The former didn’t really have the physical strength, though he tried. The latter did, and he dug a large pit for the scorched remains pretty much on his own.

Rosa’s skills might’ve been helpful, but she couldn’t provide them. Every useful part of her was sore, damaged, and/or exhausted. Physically, she hurt all over. Muscles swollen from overwork. Cuts and bruises. And a massive headache. Eventually, she got the healer to fix those for her, but she had to wait until he wasn’t busy digging a mass grave. As for the rest? Her power had drained almost completely. She could neither move things nor make successful spells. Additionally, her wings ached in a way Sam couldn’t mend. She doubted she could fly far for now, even if her life depended on it.

As such, she slept most of time, with small breaks to gorge herself on whatever food she could get her hands on.

No one could really be angry at her. She and Sam were the heroes of the fight, having killed far more of the bastards than the rest combined (Frank being a distant third). While the healer felt the need to continue helping, she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Days passed before they could return to their routines. Finding a car that still worked and wouldn’t get them immediately pulled over was more difficult than one would think, given how many vehicles actually sat on Bobby’s land. Most of them were undrivable well before a cult of fire-loving warlocks arrived to fuck shit up. Most of the others didn’t survive. Only one, Bobby’s old van, made it through, as it was parked away from the action near the northern entrance. It became their lifeline to the rest of the world, and they used it constantly for supply runs.

Collectively, they took a short break from researching just to recover. Repairs to the house and to themselves took priority. They won, much easier than any of them expected, but they weren’t completely unscathed. Behind the scenes, a relationship took a hit. Sam and Cas were uneasy around each other because of the killings. The two would get over it, but they needed time together.

Frank dealt with everything as he always did: stubborn perseverance. He hated seeing all the gore and destruction, no matter how many times he experienced it. But he knew work would make it go away, and eventually he could forget it for a while. As such, most of the digging was done by him and Dean—the other person who wanted to think the least right now. When they finished, they brought the bodies and pieces in, and then they covered them back up. Frank could only guess as to how many human and monster remains were buried around the place.

***

Sam understood why Cas was upset. In the moment, he didn’t care, but of course he did when all was said and done. He never wanted to see their angel in distress, and he especially didn’t want to be the cause of it. When he got a free moment, he went to him so they could work things out.

Cas sat in the back of the house, preferring the smell of burnt belongings to burnt flesh. He had a book on elemental magic in his lap, but he wasn’t reading it. He just wanted to be away from everyone.

Unsurprisingly, the healer’s arrival was less than welcome. Cas didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. And he certainly had no desire to explain why Sam’s deadly efficiency made him uncomfortable. The man he loved was always capable of such things, but he _chose_ to help people instead. That part of him was Cas’s favorite. The events of that day showed everyone that his interest in helping didn’t necessarily always mean healing. He had no problem killing on their behalf, and he was sickeningly good at it.

Sam got all of that, both because he felt it and because he knew Cas so well. He wasn’t there to discuss the specifics. It wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry.”

The angel looked at him with sadness lacing his expression. “For what?”

“For not considering how you felt. I can’t say that I would change what I did—because I had to do it—but I wouldn’t make you watch it happen.” He took a seat with his back to a nearby coffee table. “I don’t like doing shit like that. You know that, right? But I couldn’t make Dean do it, either. Not with everything going on.” In addition to the original plan, he suspected that his soulmate might not be able to handle the fight. He couldn’t take the chance any more than he could contribute to the stress of the illness.

The difference between the brothers was the silent elephant in the room. Cas expected Dean to do what Sam did, and he wasn’t terribly bothered by it when it occurred. Because Dean’s role in their three-person relationship was different. He never quite gave up the life of a soldier, even when they settled down. He defined himself by his ability to protect others. Protection at all costs. Cas wouldn’t have been startled by that behavior if it came from the older Winchester.

Sam tried not to take it as a double-standard. He presented himself differently than his brother. He wanted to be a civilian. He wanted to do good in this world. And that was true. But he spent his entire young life being trained as a perfect soldier. He had no memories of peace as a child. No happy home to compare it to. Only as an adult did he achieve normalcy. Dean fell into the life because he had to, because he was forced to. Sam wanted to leave it, but it would never completely leave him. Functionally, he was born a hunter.

Cas knew him mostly by the life he wanted. Their house together. Their time in Philly. Their combined aspiration to fix the ailments of everyone they came in contact with. Seeing the other part come through, especially after all this time, was jarring, to say the least.

“You’re better than that,” the angel insisted. Not just better. _Kinder_.

“I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let them hurt you, hurt us.” He reached across the space between them and gently touched his ankle. “Cas, I’m the reason they showed up. I won’t be the reason anyone in this house gets hurt or killed.” The only alternatives to killing them were offering himself up as a sacrifice or committing suicide, which was essentially the same thing. He knew neither of his companions wanted that. They wouldn’t even consider it.

The angel’s expression softened. “Rosa could’ve handled it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. What she did wore her out, and anyway, she didn’t exactly give them any mercy. My way sucked too, but at least they didn’t feel it.” He said it like he knew for sure. To be honest, there was so much pain and fear emanating from the house and later the bad guys being killed that he couldn’t sense much of anything reliably. Like trying to hear a music box over the roar of a tornado. But he knew scientifically that a shot to the head from a rifle as powerful as the one he used would cause near instantaneous death. If they felt anything, they didn’t have time to process it.

“If I hadn’t helped,” he continued slowly, “she might’ve been killed. Or others could have. I can’t let that happen. I can’t see you get hurt.”

Cas motioned for him to come closer. Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to the angel’s knee and wrapped one arm around it. Setting his chin on Cas’s leg, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want him to be upset, not about him or anything. Same with Dean. All three of them had been through enough, he thought. They had their fair share of hardship and then some.

“You scared me,” he said finally.

“I know. I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I love you.” Every argument ended with a confirmation of their bond to each other. Always. Without fail. If Sam didn’t say it first, then Cas would.

Sam smiled a little. “I love you, too.”

***

Research started up again after another day or two. The incident frightened them into action. Though none of them would’ve admitted it. The official word was that they beat two attacks already—fairly easily—so there wasn’t much need to worry. But the whispers told a different story. Bobby didn’t appreciate fighting a battle so close to home. It unnerved him. Rosa caught part of a conversation where he tried and failed to convince Ellen to go stay with family elsewhere.

Of course, Dean was as jumpy as ever, even at noises that couldn’t even remotely be misconstrued as gunshots. The coffee maker, for instance, and every door shut a little too hard. Cas seemed withdrawn, still bothered by the violence and carnage of the altercation. Sam played sentry, always watching out windows and listening for unexplainable sounds. Frank wouldn’t betray his thoughts, but he certainly didn’t seem happy.

Rosa knew what had to be done. These attacks would only escalate. The Other knew where they were, and while it was a fortress to many creatures, it only functioned as a farmhouse in their last fight. What if the god showed up? They didn’t have anything that could stop it. They were protected only by a misunderstanding, that it likely didn’t think it could kill the three directly. Any attempt at a second try would easily prove that idea false. They and anyone near them would be killed, if not obliterated. Nevermind what else this thing might have up its sleeve.

So, she quietly began researching Yemaya, instead. They knew a lot. Not just a name (with a few variations) but the strength of her power, basic character traits, favorite hangouts, and thousands of followers with very specific ways of worship. Hell, she’d even heard the name more than once before her friends ever brought it up. A popular figure in Santeria. She came over to the Americas with devout slaves, who integrated her and other Orisha—gods she supposedly created—into their forced worship of Christian figures and saints. Now, she had believers all throughout Latin America, the Caribbean, and of course Africa.

Rosa studied the rituals. She read the stories and tried to discern what was myth and what was true. According to the trio, Yemaya came off a bit more aggressive than her reputation indicated, but perhaps that was a result of the situation. The hate for angels. And the fact that she didn’t favor men in general. The goddess protected women. This was information Rosa could use.

Her status as half archangel caused a problem. But maybe she could spin it. After all, she’d never actually functioned as an angel. Never fought in any angel wars. Never met God or particularly cared for him. And of course she’d never been to Heaven.

Protecting herself wasn’t really an option. No spell would ward off or protect against a goddess who rivaled the Abrahamic God in power. And even if one had been made for that purpose, she couldn’t summon even half the amount of energy needed to enforce it. Indirect communication was out, too. No dream conversations. No scrying. Any attempt at speaking with Yemaya would result in complete vulnerability on her part. She could be killed just for trying.

But if she had any doubts before about trying it, they were gone now. Maybe the Singers were rubbing off on her, but she felt the need to protect the people in this house. Even Frank. Only with the help of something much stronger than the Other could they hope to beat him.

Moreover, the way she understood it, Yemaya seemed to like Sam. She might not now, given his use of angel power, but she did back then. She helped him, followed him, and most importantly, never laid a finger on him. Cas wasn’t so lucky. And Dean got the short end of the stick in a roundabout way. But Sam? If Yemaya knew this was about Sam and his safety, she might be sympathetic. And she might dislike fire gods in general, as part of her nature. Rosa couldn’t know for certain.

The religions that surrounded Yemaya were somewhat foreign to the witch. Santeria she knew, but voodoo? And Yoruba? Shit, she never even dabbled in those. She never had to. Their rituals were a little too complicated for her tastes. Obviously, she could make an exception here, but she had to learn a lot about the finer details to get it right. No easier way to piss off a god than to fuck up an altar or offering, especially as a non-worshiper.

She spent as much time delving into the religious practices as the goddess herself.

Rosa had to wait, however, until her power returned. Going in drained and flightless would be profoundly stupid. And fleeing might be her only defense if things went poorly. So, she let herself heal, pretended to be studying the Other, and tried not to give her intentions away.


	28. Burnin’ Up

Cas couldn’t decide where his energies would best be served. He needed Sam to know that he still believed in him, regardless of how disconcerting it was to watch him kill so many people—and help him do it. He also sensed that Dean needed him in the aftermath. The man wasn’t ready for another treatment, even though it might improve his situation. But he needed help, and Cas could provide it without the accidental pressure Sam might deliver by wanting to fix his illness.

And then there was Rosa. She didn’t need him, per say, but the others needed him to intervene against her. He caught glimpses of research that didn’t make sense for the mission. A website on Haitian spiritual practices. A bookmarked page on creation gods. A note in the margin of an otherwise innocent printout that said “full moon” and “shells.”

No one in the house trusted the witch not to take the insane step of contacting Yemaya. And every sign pointed to the likelihood that she would do just that.

His problem lay in how on Earth he could try and stop her. He had no physical or useful angelic power to use as leverage, and while she strongly valued his opinion of her, Cas doubted that would be enough either. For good or bad, Rosa did what she wanted. She neared weak demigod status in strength and abilities, and she knew it. Every successful battle or magical endeavor only fueled her ego and enforced her belief that she was impervious to death.

Her good intentions and willingness to learn from her mistakes comforted Cas somewhat. She had a conscience, albeit not a very strong one in some areas. She wanted to help them almost as much as she wanted to win the next battle.

And he knew she certainly wouldn’t try to call the goddess from here. First and foremost, there were no major water sources near the property. She would need one for optimal contact, with giant lakes, rivers, or oceans providing the best settings. So, at least they knew that if she failed, she might be the only casualty.

But he couldn’t accept that, either. He adored her, flaws and all. He didn’t want her to get hurt, on their behalf and in general. He had to say something. He just didn’t know what.

In the end, he chose Dean first. Perhaps selfishly. He wanted to spend more time with him. He wanted to take care of him. He _needed_ to make sure he was okay. Rosa could wait. She couldn’t do anything without working wings or fuel. He had time to form a plan, and watch her more carefully.

He found his lover in the back yard, working on one of the damaged vehicles. Dean was in the process of reattaching a door that had been blown off by Rosa. Grease covered his hands, jeans, and sleeveless shirt. Mud caked against his boots. He halfway hung out of a borrowed jacket, his shoulders in full view. Cas could see his breath in the cold morning air.

The angel wandered up to him and leaned against the car. The thin sweater he wore wasn’t quite warm enough for the weather, so he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hey.”

Dean set a wrench down and straightened his back. He looked over, producing a wonderful smile. “Hey there.”

“How’s it going?” Cas thought that he looked reasonably happy. Having something to do served as a good distraction from both his illness and their broader problems. There were a lot of cars that needed fixing, and he loved fixing cars. It was a source of stress relief from their past life.

He kicked the side of the vehicle. “Windshield’s busted. Tail lights. Dashboard, too. But she still runs. And there’s no bullet holes, at least.” His eyes took a walk over Cas, and he moved closer. “I could use a break.”

“Oh yeah?” He didn’t expect this type of friendliness, but he certainly didn’t mind.

“Yeah.” Dean wiped his hands on an old rag—a not very effective gesture—before gripping Cas by the cheek. He moved in close and kissed him deeply.

Cas feigned annoyance at getting covered in car oil. He touched Dean’s hand until some of it rubbed off on his own, and he offered up the evidence. “You know, I just took a shower.” His ruse wasn’t terribly convincing. The smell on his companion—a mix of engine fumes and his usual sweetness—only excited him more. And nothing about this exchange could dampen that.

“Oh, you don’t like getting dirty?” He grinned evilly. Kissing him more passionately, he reached under Cas’s sweater with both hands and squeezed his waist. “That’s a shame.”

As Dean pushed him against the car, the angel kissed him back like his life depended on it. His face felt hot. Save for the coolness of the metal behind him, he no longer noticed the cold. How could he? His lover pressed into him, practically lighting his nerves on fire in the process. Cloth did nothing to avoid feeling each other intimately. Especially the part where Dean drove into his inner thigh, a proud declaration of arousal.

He reached behind him and pulled his jacket down a little. Withdrawing just enough to speak, “Wanna go inside?”

Dean smiled. “What if we don’t?” He jerked forward. Not enough to hurt him, of course—but it got the message across. No one was around. The only two people who favored the back part of the house were him and Cas. And anyway, if they really wanted a little privacy, the damaged Firebird’s backseat would suffice. Just like old times, when they first got together.

Biting into his own bottom lip, Cas decided he didn’t really want to say no. Spontaneity was sexy, and so was Dean. “We’ll have to be quiet,” he warned.

“No promises.” He undid the button on his lover’s pants and unzipped the fly. Mercilessly, he reached inside and got a firm grip. Cas’s gasp was just one of many sounds he hoped to elicit over the next half hour or so. But he had to admit, it probably wouldn’t be the angel who made the most noise. Both Cas and Sam were mute in comparison to Dean. He only managed to avoid informing the whole county by clamping his mouth shut or—finding something else to put in it.

He knew it was a private joke between his partners. But embarrassment couldn’t be further from his mind. In fact, he didn’t really care if anyone heard, at least not this revved up.

Kissing his way down Cas’s neck, he pushed him onto the driver’s seat. Moments later, he had the angel’s sweater off and his pants down to his knees. He followed suit, wriggling out of his jacket and stripping down to just his boxers. A blast of cold air caused him to hesitate, as Cas already looked a little uncomfortable because of it. But he wouldn’t be swayed by the weather. With a little maneuvering, he grabbed the keys, started the car, and switched on the heat. Sure, there was no side door, but it would help a little.

Cas laughed. He grabbed Dean and pulled him down for another long kiss. As a rule, the older Winchester always kept individual serving-sized packets of lubricant in his wallet where he once kept condoms. Being caught without it meant a no-go, or at least not all the way. So, he made sure he was prepared for anything, any time. Once he got a new wallet, he immediately filled it with all the things he normally carried, including stolen credit cards, a small knife, and a photo of the three of them together.

With one arm busy steading himself, he used the other and his teeth to get the packet open. Proper application wasn’t just a necessity. It could be part of the fun. He took his time and delighted in the pleasure it brought his angel. He looked perfect, felt perfect. And he seemed to think the same about Dean. Only when he couldn’t wait any longer did he finally move forward and into him.

Inside the house, they unknowingly had a voyeur. Sort of. Nothing much was happening as everyone either continued their research or sought out some late breakfast. The absence of any emotional turmoil or direct stressors allowed Sam to easily _feel_ what went on in the back yard. He couldn’t have avoided it if he wanted to. The soulmate bond amplified it. His partners were having a pretty good time.

It took everything he had not to blush. This wasn’t the first time he’d unwittingly been included in one of their romps, and it would’ve been way more awkward if he didn’t also have sex with both of them on the regular. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sensations. The two people he loved were making the best of their time together. And he got to experience it, too!

Still, he felt like he shouldn’t be prying—even though he couldn’t help it.

He felt them both as they drew closer to the end. He couldn’t quite picture it. He didn’t know what position they were in. If it was any two other people, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell their combined emotions apart (provided both parties were enjoying themselves). But Dean was his soulmate, and Cas wasn’t really human. They were very separate entities to his receptors. He sensed their pleasure on different wavelengths, the same and yet completely distinct.

“What are you smiling about?” Rosa’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Sam didn’t realize he was that readable. “Nothing,” he replied too quickly to be believed.

“Yeah, okay.”

Before he could think of a retort, an additional problem arose. He spotted Frank moving through the room, a plate full of pancakes and bacon in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. This wouldn’t be concerning if not for the man’s direction. Sam’s abilities told him a very specific thing about the situation. His companions were not upstairs in their room. They were near the back of the house, most likely outside. He didn’t want anyone to disturb them.

For everyone’s benefit.

“Frank, hold on.” When the man stopped in his tracks and gave an inquisitive look, “Why don’t you eat with us?”

Looking around the room, he shook his head. “Nah, I’m clumsy. I don’t wanna get anything on these books.”

When he headed for the door to the sunroom, Sam put a little more urgency in his voice, “Wait.” He sighed. He didn’t want to have to tell them, but he figured it would be better than his lovers getting walked in on, especially by a person who didn’t know them very well. “I don’t think you should eat out there right now.”

Before the hunter could ask why, Rosa let out a noise, somewhere between a yelp and a laugh. “Oh, you son of a bitch.”

Frank turned to face them and carefully set his food on a nearby table. “What am I missing here?”

“Uh, well—”

“Dean and Cas are out there,” Rosa supplied for him. She was genuinely, cruelly amused by the events unfolding before her. Like it was a form of entertainment. Hell, maybe it was. “They’ve been there for a while now.”

Tilting his head, Frank reminded himself to stay calm. “They’re gettin’ it on in the back yard?”

“Apparently.” Rosa looked directly at Sam. “You can tell, can’t you? Like you can tell what everyone here is feeling all the time.” He’d never personally revealed to her the extent of his senses, mostly because it unnerved the people who knew about it, but she could put two and two together. “You know what’s going on, even though they didn’t inform or invite you.”

Sam groaned and covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. “It’s not something I can control or turn off,” he tried to change the subject. “Like if you had a cold coming on, I would know. If you’re angry in the kitchen, and I can’t hear or see you, I’ll still know. It lets me help people, and mediate when things get tense. But it sometimes means I get wrapped up in stuff I can’t control. Negative emotions can have a negative effect on me.”

“And positive emotions?” Rosa pressed, grinning.

He needed a moment to respond properly, as the lovebirds outside were both nearing climax. Dean a few steps ahead of the angel. He blinked. “Yeah, same thing.”

Frank took a long sip of his coffee. “Guess I’m eatin’ in here.” He picked up his food and wandered over to a chair about equidistant from the other two. Thankfully, the subject matter didn’t really affect his appetite, and he promptly dug in. Eventually, he came up for air. “Do they usually, uh—”

“No,” Sam said quickly.

Have sex in or around a car? Sure. Have sex where a ton of other people could easily catch them? No way. It often took coaxing just to get Dean to show any affection in public. This kind of risk was unusual for him. Not so much Cas, who had a very different outlook on sex and the various ways to enjoy it. But he would never pressure him to do anything he didn’t feel comfortable with, so Sam could only assume that this exchange was initiated by his brother.

Dean had a whole host of difficulties lately. Any one of them could be the culprit. Maybe he needed to blow off steam or he felt lonely or he just wanted a break from everything. Maybe he felt reckless. Or maybe he didn’t really think about it all. With so many things going on in his head, his judgement might not be the best.

Regardless, Sam could discern none of that now. Only happiness, pleasure, and unflinching passion emanated from him. As his soulmate climaxed, Sam covered his own mouth to avoid making any kind of expression. Or noise. The feelings he received were more than enough to arouse him, especially at the most intense moments. Luckily, any evidence of that was hidden by a laptop.

Cas wasn’t far behind either. Sam tried to stay silent as the angel’s enjoyment reached astronomic levels. He could guess which kind of act would make his emotional output skyrocket like that, but he tried not to. The whole thing was already too public. They may have picked a poor location to have sex, but they still deserved as much privacy as possible. He didn’t like that the others knew about it, mostly because Dean would hate being exposed like that. His soulmate deserved to have some fun without any consequences.

“It’s actually not terribly common for them to do something like this,” Rosa confirmed, to both of the men’s astonishment. “I’d say we could chalk this one up to recent events.”

She may not be an empath—far from it—but she was perceptive enough to understand the implications of their conversation. Sam looked mortified, and while she gladly laughed at that, she didn’t think Dean could tolerate the same treatment. Not right now. She might tease Cas about it. Maybe. But Dean? Given everything he’d endured since returning to Earth—hell, since birth—she had no intention of contributing to his grief.

Frank didn’t want to, either. Of course, he didn’t enjoy learning what currently went on outside. But he was an adult. At worst, Sam made certain nothing was seen that didn’t need to be, and he appreciated the warning. And anyway, he knew why Dean was out there in the first place. To fix one of their vehicles. The two might not be as exposed as the healer feared. Even if they were, it wasn’t any of his business.

That was the best approach to the people he shared this house with. They had very complex, very strange histories, and everything worked better when he didn’t pry.

About fifteen minutes later, Castiel appeared in the doorway as though nothing happened. He didn’t look disheveled or worse for the wear. Even his hair wasn’t messy—likely the product of careful (attempted) concealment of their activities. He did seem happier, though, and Rosa thought that he was glowing.

None of the three said anything, at least for now.

***

Sam and Frank kept the information to themselves, but Rosa couldn’t help it. She had no interest in bringing up the subject with Dean. But her mentor? He was fair game. And she could use the distraction while her physical and angel bodies recovered.

She caught him mid-day in the kitchen. Daydreaming over a cup of tea. Bobby and Frank went on a supply run, Sam was researching with his headphones on, Dean worked on a car, and Ellen sat in the back room, reloading and sorting their weapons. As such, no one was even remotely within earshot, so she didn’t have to worry about accidentally revealing anything to the wrong person.

With a grin, she slid into a chair next to him. He didn’t notice her devious expression at first, choosing instead to simply enjoy her company. But once he did, he couldn’t figure out why she had it. “What happened?” he asked with suspicion.

“You got lucky.”

Well, yeah. He and the Winchesters enjoyed a fantastic interaction that morning. They even got it done in time for Dean to start his work early. “Of course.”

But she shook her head. “You got lucky… in a Trans Am in the backyard.”

His eyes widened, and he quickly gripped his mug with both hands. “Oh.” He didn’t know how she found out, but he wasn’t thrilled. Was she spying on them? Why the hell would she want to do that?

“Wanna know how I know?”

“Not really.”

She scoffed. “Oh, c’mon. It’s kinda cool.”

Somehow, he highly doubted it. “What, you were scrying or something?” Asked a ghost? Found something in the car? Or did she just guess, given that they were out there for more than an hour? It better not involve interrogating Dean, he thought.

“Sam has a good poker face, but not when you two are getting it on. Poor guy. I’m sure you gave him a good ride, though.” She snickered.

“What?”

She patted his shoulder. “Surely he’s told you that he can feel when people have sex nearby, right?” When Cas gave a slow nod, “Well, he was with us researching—and he couldn’t turn it off. You’d be proud. He tried really hard not to tell us what was going on. Shit, if Frank hadn’t almost walked in on you two, he might’ve kept your secret.”

Cas breathed out sharply as his knuckles turned white. “Who is ‘us’?”

“Just me and Frank. And neither of us plan to tell anyone.” She leaned back in her chair. The old wood creaked. “I’m only mentioning it because it’s hilarious.”

“Really?” He certainly didn’t think so.

Laughing, “Hell yes, it is. You dumb shits got down and dirty ten feet from the house, and then our resident psychic had to pretend he wasn’t getting off on it. You shoulda seen his face. It was fucking adorable.”

Though Cas could picture Sam’s problem—and the thought made him both sympathetic and a little amused—he didn’t feel particularly comfortable with causing it. He hadn’t considered that Sam might be put in a precarious position. Sure, their choice was reckless, but neither of them anticipated that result. “You could’ve just texted us or something,” he grumbled.

“And miss out on all the fun?” She chuckled. “Nobody actually wanted you to stop. God knows all of us need ways to relax. We just thought your location choice was a little strange.”

Dean wanted attention, so he provided it with zeal. That was the only explanation that mattered. But he could tell that she was mostly just ribbing him. In her mind, the only person who could really be blamed for the awkward series of events was him, and she felt comfortable joking with him about it. “You weren’t a dick to Sam, were you?”

“No. Of course not. But it _was_ funny as shit.” She snorted. “Gotta hand it to you. How the hell did you manage to show back up like nothing went down? Not a hair out of place. Damn, I’m impressed!”

In that respect, Cas had to admit he was a little proud of himself. Rosa didn’t know about it, but he ended up covered in engine grease and dirt. Nevermind the standard results of getting laid. It was a miracle that nothing ended up on his clothes. As for cleaning the visible areas? A water bottle and a fresh rag did the trick well enough. He fixed himself up, and Dean reluctantly let him go. He took a shower once he was sure no one would suspect anything.

“Practice,” was his reply.

Nearly his entire human life was marked by instances of needing to hide sexual activity. When he was in the closet as a teenager, when he dated someone who wasn’t out, when he had to talk to a phone client and then be a normal person right after, and even when he and Dean first started having a real relationship. Needing to do that—to perform—was something that used to bother him so much. Why should he have to? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But now, with two loving partners, concealment was more about privacy. Not shame or fear. What he did in bed with either or both of the Winchesters was not for consumption by others. Their romantic relationship was the real presentation, in full view for everyone. And the fact that they had sex was a given. No one could pretend he wasn’t being loved intimately and completely. That was the difference.

“You do things out of love sometimes,” he added. “Either for them or for yourself.”

She sat back and smiled. “Which one was the Firebird?”

“Both.”

“You have to take care of the people you cherish.” She didn’t love anyone. Not since her grandmother died, and even then, it felt like a shallow connection—built on a lie—that wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny now. Her abuela didn’t know what she really was, didn’t know that her daughter died because her fetus wasn’t human. Would she have even raised her if she knew? Rosa didn’t have an answer.

But she had friends, technically. Cas, being at the top of the list, was someone she valued. The brothers, too. And she wholly intended on protecting them like they were family.

As though he could read her mind, “Summoning Yemaya won’t accomplish that,” he said bluntly.

“That’s fine, because I’m not going to do it.”

He pursed his lips. “Don’t lie to me, Rosa.”

In a telling move, she got up from her chair abruptly and stepped back. “You keep saying her name like that, and she’ll show up unprovoked!”

Sighing, “Part of caring for others is understanding your role in their lives. If you get yourself killed, you are not helping. You’re hurting us. There are a ton of ways we could beat the Other. Just because we don’t know them yet doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Yemaya is more violent, and exponentially more powerful. Even if she doesn’t rip you to shreds, we could make an enemy none of us can defend against.”

“The Other will come after you before we find an answer,” she countered. “And we won’t have anything to fight it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Her whole body radiated anger at this point, though she tried to make it look like concern. “I know that sometimes people you care about don’t know what’s best for them.”

“And you think you do?”

“I know I do.” She paced toward the hallway. “You’d stand in a burning building if you thought it’d keep someone else from getting hurt. I’m gonna put out the fire.”

Cas shook his head. He clamped his hands on the table to keep them from shaking. “You’ll get burned, too.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She calmed a little as she saw how distraught the argument made him. Of course she didn’t enjoy seeing him upset. But emotions were easier to deal with than being dead. Though with the trio’s track record, she could see why they might disagree on that.

“Is there anything I could possibly say to you that would get you to reconsider?” He swallowed a lump in his throat.

“No.” Rosa forced herself to look at him. No matter what happened, she thought, he’d get over it. She was his friend, but she wasn’t essential to his existence. “Sorry, Cas.”


	29. Pain Lies on the Riverside

That night, he had to break the news to his partners. He told them first, before any of the others, since, apart from himself, they knew Rosa the best. They lived with her for years. They each concerned themselves with her wellbeing, at least a little. And they would be the most effected by her decision.

He waited until both were comfortable, but the news didn’t go down well, regardless. Especially with Dean. “No. No way in hell.” He managed to shout and whisper at the same time.

“It’s fucking stupid,” Sam agreed.

Cas nodded, his head still resting on Sam’s chest. A familiar position. He gripped Dean’s forearm from across his soulmate, and tried to sound as sympathetic as he felt. “I know. I think it’s awful.”

“We’ll stop her,” Dean insisted. “We’ll tie her down or sneak up on her, and Sam can put her out.”

And what, just keep her unconscious until they dealt with the Other? Firstly, that would take round-the-clock surveillance, with Sam hardly sleeping. Without rest, he would never properly recover, and not only would he run out of juice but they’d never actually accomplish the mission. Secondly, Rosa had to accept his energy to be healed or sedated. It wasn’t like everyone else. She was stronger than him at controlling power. Not when they first met her, because her powers were intentionally dulled, but now? She could just take the energy he gave her and use it to supercharge one of her abilities. 

As soon as he said it, Dean knew it wouldn’t work, just as his companions did. “There’s nothing we can do to stop her, is there?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t think so. Even if we called Balthazar, he probably wouldn’t be able to prevent this. Rosa does what she wants. I really tried to reason with her, but she thinks she’s doing the right thing.”

Sam breathed out heavily and rubbed at the back of their angel’s head. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “It’ll be okay.”

The older Winchester was not convinced. “There are an insane number of things that could go wrong.”

“And we’ll deal with them. Or she will. Let’s be honest, it’s unlikely that whatever Rosa does will translate to us having to deal with Yemaya directly. She’s careful about that, at least. And I think she has to be by a big body of water, anyway, which we don’t exactly have here.” The city’s river was pretty to look at but not particularly powerful. With his other hand, he ran his fingers across Dean’s back. “The worst thing that can really happen is—well—we lose her.”

Sam sensed Cas forcing himself not to cry. For him, potentially losing Rosa was a giant part of the problem. He’d spent so much time trying, and somewhat succeeding, at helping her retain her humanity. Helping her grow and learn. Teaching her the better parts about being an angel. They were close. She considered him a mentor, and he treated her kind of like his own sister. Cas didn’t even want to think about her dying, and especially not the possibility that she might be stripped of an afterlife in the process.

“Which’ll be her fault,” Dean added, unaware of how badly Cas was hurting.

But this was Sam’s job: to know who had pain and help them fix it. In this case, it was their angel. “She’s trying to help,” he corrected, cautiously. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s super dangerous, but it might work. It might. She doesn’t have a death wish, Cas. She’s gonna be careful.”

It took Dean a moment, but he realized what his soulmate was doing—and why. He silently kicked himself. Of course Cas was worried about Rosa, too. She was there for him when neither of his partners could be, and even before that, she was probably his best friend. An impressive feat on her part, considering how easily the angel made friends when their lives permitted it. “Yeah, I mean, we’re only focusing on what could go wrong. If it works, if we get that gal on our side—this job is over. And then we can go on vacation or something.”

Cas knew they were just trying to cheer him up. They couldn’t lie to him even if they wanted to. But he appreciated the effort, nonetheless. “We’ll see.”

As a distraction, Sam tugged on the angel’s arm until he moved up enough for a deep kiss. The healer held onto him for a long time, brushing his cheek with his thumb. He tasted him. Sweet. As he pressed a little closer, he felt Cas’s apprehension melt away. They didn’t disconnect for a long time.

When the angel eventually pulled back, it was to look at Sam with a measure of appreciation. There were very few ills of the world that being with the Winchesters couldn’t fix, if only temporarily. The healer smiled at him. He felt warm and comforted. Dean kept his distance during their exchange. Sometimes one-on-one was better than a crowd. More effective. After a while, he reached across Sam to touch Cas’s side. A gentle reminder that he was there, too, if the angel needed him.

If not? That was fine, too. He didn’t feel left out or anything like that. How could he? They were still within inches of him. All three still shared a bed. He could never be selfish in these moments, just as the other two didn’t when the roles were adjusted.

For the most part, Sam and Cas spent the evening trained on each other, mostly just kissing. Sam held him close, made sure he knew that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t go through it alone. The healer reached back now and then to touch his arm or chest. They were still in cuddle mode when Dean fell asleep.

***

It was another day before Rosa felt confident her batteries were fully recharged and her wings could take the workout. In the privacy of her room, she prepared for the biggest round of spellcasting she’d ever undertaken.

For Yemaya, style was everything. She accepted many kinds of worship but there were recurrent themes. All saw her as the creator of humans, the guardian of water sources, and the protector of women. The witch had to incorporate the three into her attempts to speak with the goddess, and nearly all of her research focused on exactly what to present and how.

Perhaps the strangest part of her approach involved what she planned to wear. All white. Something akin to a choir gown, cinched at the waist with a white belt. Her hair received a similar treatment, tied back with a plain bandana. The only colors she wore were beads, hand-made in Africa and Brazil. She chose ones that matched as closely as possible to those in pictures of real worshippers. Instead of flying to steal or buy them, she ordered them online and had them delivered. Best to save her strength. She purchased the outfit in Sioux Falls.

The right location took a little time. She centered in on a relatively deserted bend in the Ogun river, west of the city of Loburo. While Benin was the birthplace of Voodoo, and thus worship of Yemaya—called Yemoja there—her primary domain was supposed to be a relatively unspectacular river in Nigeria. The Yoruba people felt she was the queen of river goddesses, but in the Americas, she ruled the oceans. After a little digging, which suggested that perhaps her target might rule every body of water, Rosa decided to try the river first. If it didn’t work, she’d change venues.

As for the offerings, Rosa chose as many items from the different regions as she could find and carry on her journey. Obviously, animal sacrifice would be too tricky. But hens were an accepted animal, so she substituted fresh chicken breast. She grabbed a white pitcher and small bowl from the Singers, figuring they would already be angry so it wouldn’t make much difference. Cornmeal, onions, and rice were all easily found in town. It took a little more searching, but seashells and clear crystals were plentiful at a local craft store.

On her return from the supply run, she picked up a few rounded stones near the Big Sioux River. They were not a purchase or a borrowed item. To maintain a sort of natural respect, she thanked the river for them and told it that if Yemaya did not want them, she would give them back.

She borrowed the final piece from a festival in Uruguay. It was a little early—they celebrated in February—but she liked the idea. Items delivered to Yemaya were sent on little boats. Some people in Brazil did a similar ritual. Rosa crafted one in the evenings as she recovered, using bits of wood abandoned throughout the property and some glue. Her offerings—which at the last minute also included one of her combs and a small compact mirror—were piled inside. She tested it in the bathtub to check for leaks.

As for the spells themselves, she abandoned any that might try to protect her. They would be useless against a goddess this strong, and a drain on essential energy. She knew Yemaya could speak English because of her conversations with Sam, so a language spell wasn’t needed. And she wouldn’t be building a circle or using any kind of scrying.

But her magic was still vital. With so many voices talking to the goddess, she needed to be heard above them. Amplified. And not just that, Rosa needed to say something that would be of interest to a creature powerful enough to have whatever she wanted. She needed to send the message and sound important enough for a response. Otherwise, Yemaya might just ignore her. After all, she wasn’t even a devout follower.

The words would have to seem humble but confident. She wrote them and rewrote them dozens of times. And she memorized it all, along with a handful of talking points to the question of her genetic makeup. That part couldn’t sound rehearsed. She knew what she would say, but she’d paraphrase it and try to explain from the heart.

An hour before sunrise in Nigeria, Rosa collected her items. Everything went in the boat, including her chicken, which sat in the bowl. Except for the pitcher, since it served as part of the ceremony itself. She clutched the things close to her chest, breathed out, and took off for Africa.

Aerial views of locations provided by online maps were more than enough to help her find her way. It took only a few seconds to arrive. A simple beach at the edge of a tree line. She thought she could make out a dirt road on the other side, but it was empty, with no sign of recent use. Rosa needed privacy to work—as she would most certainly appear out of place—but she also wanted to minimize possible damage to others. With a sigh, she waded into the murky brown water.

While keeping one hand on the boat to avoid releasing it early, Rosa scooped up some river water in her pitcher and raised it in the air. She moved quickly through spells designed to enhance her magical voice, to make it louder. As she did so, the witch traced a loose circle in the water with her wings. They went away afterwards, tucked as closely to her soul as she could make them. Then, she began the ritual.

“Hola, Yemayá. Odô ta, Yemanjá. Bonjour, La Sirène. Pẹlẹ o, Yemoja. Hello, Mother of Water. I have come to your shores seeking guidance and strength. I bring you the many things those that love you have sent for centuries. I bring them as meager gifts in hope of counsel. I offer myself to your waves, for your power is an unstoppable force, as mighty as the oceans and as valued as rain to thirsting crops. I pour from the cup as you poured life into me, as humanity poured from your womb.” She let the water slowly drip from her vessel and tried to project the image of it outward.

She released the boat and watched it drift downstream. The glue was only water-resistant. Eventually, the boat would break apart, and the contents would belong to the river. She watched it leave as she refilled the pitcher. “I pour from the cup as you poured life into me, as humanity poured from your womb. I return to your waters, as I am your child.”

Something touched her leg beneath the water. A snake or eel. In the next instant, it happened again, on her side. She tried to stay calm. It felt like the water was full of serpents. This wasn’t a coincidence. “I return to your waters, Yemayá. I am your—”

“I did not make _you_ ,” came a voice out of nowhere. It created waves in the water, which crashed against her chest and nearly knocked her over.

Rosa nodded very slowly. “You made my mother. And her mother before her.”

“But not the ugly thing that tainted you.”

Another nod. “No. Of course not, Great Yemayá. But just as my mother knew nothing of what he was—” She could only assume that Gabriel didn’t exactly explain himself. “—I did not ask for his contribution. I cannot help what I am. I cannot take back what was done to her by carrying something she did not understand. But I come to you as a human, trying to help other humans.”

There was a long pause. Rosa looked around, but she could still see no one. Finally, “You use your foreign abilities and crave more of them.”

“I do,” she admitted. “I use them to protect human beings. Friends. Loved ones. Even strangers. More power, more strength, would only allow me to contribute more. I come to you because I face a creature too strong to fight alone. To fail is to see many deaths, and likely the destruction of souls.”

“Do you think I would gift my power to the child of my enemy?”

She raised her head. “You have done it before. Balthazar. Castiel. Pureblooded angels fighting their own kin with your energy at their disposal.”

To her horror, the response was not more conversation. The tail-end of an eel, or perhaps a tentacle of some kind, slowly rose out of the water a few inches from her face. She stood, frozen, as it creeped up across her chest and wrapped itself horizontally around her. It squeezed, and she found she could only just barely take in air. She dropped the pitcher.

“Only an angel would know such a thing!” the voice bellowed. “You are no human.”

Since she could barely speak, and trying to fight the creature would probably just make it grip tighter, Rosa went a different route. She thought her response, as loudly as she could, and applied a little energy to the endeavor. “ _There were humans present. My friends. But I wasn’t there. I didn’t even know about my heritage at that time. I didn’t know my friends then, either._ ”

“You tell half-truths. You know the angel Castiel. He is among your friends. I can smell him on you.”

She wheezed as the creature moved toward paralyzing her lungs. But she didn’t fight it, no matter how much she wanted to. Her heart raced. “ _He’s not what he was. He’s not a soldier. His body is his own, and he is mortal._ ”

“Impossible.”

Gasping, Rosa felt light-headed, but she hoped she was gaining ground. “ _Castiel gave away the parts of him that were strong like an angel. He kept the parts that loved like a human. He relinquished his right to heal himself, and he threw away his wings. He_ —” She struggled to think. Oh God, she couldn’t get enough air. “ _He gave them to humans because he trusted them more than himself._ ”

The creature released its grasp enough so that she could breathe again. The end of the appendage moved up to her face and rested menacingly on her cheek. It felt slimy to the touch. Rosa took a deep breath. She tried not to show how nervous she was.

“But you have not come for him.”

“No,” she answered, coughing. “I come for the man who received the ability to heal. He uses it to save other humans. It’s his passion in life.” She gulped. “He’s in danger. He has been tasked with saving an innocent child, but a great force of evil seeks to stop him, devastatingly. The force has already sent his devils in an attempt to destroy him.” When she received no immediate response, “His name is Sam Winchester.”

The appendage around her body slipped away suddenly, and she was left with severe bruising and a few broken ribs.

“You saw the goodness in him, right?” she asked into the nothingness. “He has the gift to share it now, and he will be destroyed for it if I can’t help him. I’ve defended him so far, but I am not strong enough for this foe.”

“What is the foe?”

Rosa honestly didn’t expect the goddess to answer. Feeling uplifted and a little relieved despite the physical pain, “He’s been referred to as the Other. A fire god who will hurt anyone who gets in his way. His followers wield flames as weapons, and they are all men.”

“Who told you this?”

She thought about it for a moment and decided to take another risk. She knew what the god told her his name was, but she strongly suspected it was something a little more familiar. “The Tree of Life.”

“A friend of yours?” This time, the voice came from behind her. It didn’t roar or appear from nothingness. It sounded like it emanated from the throat of a human woman. One who stood on the shore. There was a slight French accent to it now, but the witch imagined that Yemaya could sound like anything she wanted.

Rosa tried to turn to look at her but found she couldn’t. Her body simply wouldn’t move. “I believe so.”

“How does something like you become friends with a creature as revered as the Tree of Life?”

She smiled slightly. “Much in the same way that I’m talking to you. The Tree of Life brought my friends back from the dead because of Sam’s ability to heal. He wants Sam to find a child that the Other tried to kill, a child who is now in a coma.” She coughed again and winced at the stabbing pain it caused. “The child knows the secrets of Earth. He or she holds an impossible amount of knowledge. If Sam can heal the child, the Tree of Life can learn how to save his species.”

Clearing her throat, Rosa continued. “But he didn’t know his efforts to resurrect my friends were successful, because the Other killed the followers performing the ritual. When I discovered who was responsible for their return, I contacted him to gain more information on what dangers we’re facing. The Tree of Life told me about his intentions and what was at stake. He gave us the option of walking away, but the Other will not allow that, and Sam wants to help.”

“How does a child know such things?”

Rosa shrugged. “He said the child befriended Earth somehow. That the two were friends, and as a reward for companionship, Earth shared her secrets.” It was like something out of a whimsical animated movie. “We have a list of kids we think might be the one, but I can’t send Sam out there without some kind of protection against this thing.”

Suddenly, Rosa found herself being turned in the water. As her body rotated and then came to a stop, she laid eyes on the goddess for the first time. She looked human, at least on the outside. A beautiful black woman, late thirties. She wore a white dress with light blue embroidery, and her hair, woven into small braids, sat atop her head in a complicated bun. Beads, not unlike the ones Rosa wore, adorned Yemaya’s wrists, neck, ankles, and upper arms. She held a doll made of dark wood, cowry shells, and nails.

The witch bowed her head. “I know you are busy,” she continued. “I don’t ask for you to intervene on our behalf. My request is for an additional reservoir of energy. Enough to fight the Other should he attack Sam during the search.”

“And what shall I receive in return?”

“You can name your price,” Rosa said sternly. “The child’s knowledge and connection to Earth might be of use to you. So might my loyalty.”

Yemaya looked down at her doll as though it were a real infant. She ran her fingers over it. “What happens to the child after you no long have use for it? Do you abandon it like your father did you?”

That stung. But Rosa wasn’t exactly interested in defending him. After all, she’d never even met the guy. Like he couldn’t take an hour or so off from Heaven guard duty and come see her if he really wanted to. Most of the people in the house in Sioux Falls had met him, but not her. She wasn’t a priority to him. “If the child has family, I would return him or her to them. If not, I would—I would treat it as my own, to protect and care for.”

The goddess chuckled, finding the prospect almost as absurd as Rosa did. She wasn’t fooling anyone. She never seemed motherly or even particularly good with children. Hell, she didn’t even _like_ kids most of the time. But if Yemaya wanted to ensure the child had someone that cared, she could be that person.

Regardless, the answer proved satisfactory. “Children deserve mothering,” she pointed out. “Earth would be pleased to see this child return to a family, whatever that looks like. I require this of you, _Rosa_. To fail in this way will mean your violent end. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Yemaya motioned for her to leave the river. Slowly, the witch stumbled from the water until she stood only about a foot away from the powerful goddess. Though it wasn’t requested, she dropped to her knees in the mud. Subservience, however degrading, was the right call with a creature this powerful. And it wasn’t as difficult as she thought. Rosa found herself strangely comfortable around Yemaya. Despite having the breath squeezed out of her. Despite her life being threatened. Something about the way the deity carried herself—it was soothing. She had a deserved reputation of violence, but she didn’t seem to enjoy it.

The goddess touched Rosa’s head, near her left temple. “You are not permitted to use this power for anything other than helping find and protect the child and defending the healer. Say that you agree.”

“I agree.”

“The safety of both is your responsibility. If you fail to protect them despite this gift, your life is forfeit.”

She inhaled sharply. There were so many things that could go wrong, outside of her control. But she had no choice. This deal was all or nothing. And anyway, she wasn’t certain she could even turn it down at this point. Attempting to walk away could also mean her destruction. “Yes.”

“Swear your allegiance to me.”

Before she could think about it too deeply, “I swear myself to you, Yemaya.”

“Stand.” When she did so, the goddess leaned in close enough for her nose to touch Rosa’s cheek. She smelled like salt water. “You belong to me.”

Rosa couldn’t help but tremble a little. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter. It was something she had to acquiesce to. It was a statement. By swearing allegiance, Rosa became property of Yemaya in some way that would most likely terrify her. She didn’t want to know. With her heart pounding in her chest, Rosa gave a single nod.

In the next instant, something altogether unexpected and yet unsurprising occurred. The goddess took hold of her forcefully—and kissed her. But Rosa knew this wasn’t sexual or even designed to be intimidating. Deals were made this way, across multiple species (even humans kissed to solidify a marriage contract). And moreover, this was how Yemaya planned to transfer the energy. She felt it pour into her. A sort of dark blue to purple-colored power. Turbulent. It rushed into her body like violent flood waters.

Her knees buckled. Only the goddess’s hold on her kept her upright. When she finally let her go, Rosa collapsed to her hands and knees. She gasped. Every muscle in her body felt weak and the world around her began to spin. Eventually, she fell to her side, clutching her abdomen and shaking. From beyond her agony, she swore she heard Yemaya wish her “Good luck.” She lost consciousness before she could be certain.


	30. When the Levee Breaks

When she awoke, hours later, a young boy was staring at her. He held a baby goat, and there were three adult ones with him as well—one of which was a little too interested in her hair. She groaned.

Looking around, Rosa found no evidence Yemaya had ever been there. But she could feel the energy sitting in her gut like a cosmic smoothie. Cold. Unsettled. It made her feel a little nauseous, and her body hurt from it.

“What’s your name?” asked the boy.

She slowly rose to her feet and grimaced at the amount of mud caked onto her clothing. “Oshun,” she lied. It was the name of a lower deity that reported to Yemaya. Fitting, she thought, given her current predicament.

“This is not Ọ̀ṣun’s river,” the boy countered.

Rosa forced herself to smile in his general direction. Her pronunciation wasn’t very good either, apparently. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

With that, she took off for home.

This time, Rosa landed just outside Bobby’s property, to ensure there would be enough room. She was tired. Imbalanced. She had no confidence in her regular abilities. Thankfully, she didn’t break her neck on the descent. With her body in protest, the witch made it to the gate, opened it, and headed for the house.

Cas darted out onto the porch before she thought anyone even knew she’d arrived. But by the look on his face, she knew why. He could see it. Her new power beamed at him the moment she returned to South Dakota. It was so bright that he couldn’t look at it directly. As such, his physical eyes squinted at her as she approached. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” she called to him. “I did, and we’re good to go.”

When she got closer, “What the fuck do you mean by that? What happened? Why do you have her power?”

She smiled at him, but said nothing. Instead, she pushed past him on the way to her room. She ignored the knowing looks from her colleagues and headed upstairs. But Cas followed her. With the kind of day she was having, Rosa didn’t really feel like explaining herself, but she didn’t tell him to leave, either. She simply faced away from him and got undressed—unworried about his presence. Silently, she wondered how she became best friends with a gay angel.

Cas didn’t even notice the brief flashes of skin. “What did you give her in return?”

“I promised to protect the kid along with Sam,” she said simply, reaching for a worn t-shirt and some dry underwear. “And not to use the power for anything else.”

“And?” He didn’t buy it. Balthazar had to wage a war to get that kind of energy. Even if Yemaya still favored Sam and valued children greatly, it didn’t add up. That amount of power was worth more than a few promises.

In a nearby mirror, Rosa couldn’t help but notice that there were no marks on her body. She still didn’t have the ability to heal herself, even with the new energy, so it must have been a gift from the water goddess. She sighed. “If I can’t accomplish the task, there will be consequences.” Before he could ask what those would be, “Let’s just say that I have the tools to make this work, so it needs to work.”

She intentionally left out the part where her life might not actually belong to her anymore. Rosa would cross that bridge when she came to it. Following around an intensely powerful being wouldn’t be the worst fate in the world—far better than being killed by one—and she didn’t know if Yemaya meant the servitude would only last while she had the power or if it was permanent. The thought disturbed her, for sure, but she knew the risks of what she did. And she made a successful deal without getting killed.

“If you can’t protect us and the mystery kid, she kills you?”

Rosa slipped into a pair of baggy jeans before turning to face him. “If I can’t, chances are, it’s because I got killed in the process, so it’s pretty much the same result. I just have to play bodyguard, which I was planning to do for Sam anyway.”

“And the kid?”

“I see no reason not to. If the amount of knowledge is true, we’d do well to keep that child safe. And anyway, it’s probably the right thing to do.” She knew he would appreciate that part more than she did. Sure, saving a kid was a good thing, but having to raise one? For how long? Not that she had a choice now. She signed up for this.

But Cas had other concerns. “Children don’t belong in this life.”

“What life?” She tugged on her shirt until it hung past the waistline of her pants. “After this job is over, none of us have to do this anymore. You and the Winchesters can set up shop again. Settle into a new city. Do whatever you want. And I sure as hell wasn’t hunting while you all were in graves. If the kid stays with me, then we’ll go back to Austin.”

The angel sat down on her bed. “You don’t actually want kids,” he pointed out. “You would hate taking care of one.” Though he never had any of his own, he adored his nieces and loved babysitting. They were so much fun. Playing board games. Watching reruns. Eating so much sugar along the way. But he didn’t think Rosa would enjoy even the easy parts of childcare. She didn’t make bonds with others quickly, and her patience left a lot to be desired.

“Like I said, it’s a condition of having the power. I protect the kid for as long as Yemaya wants me to, under her terms. I don’t have to like it.” She gripped at her stomach as a cramp formed from the settling energy. “I’ll be happy when this is over, though. Shit.” Provided she didn’t immediately become an indentured servant.

Cas nodded solemnly. “You’re not meant to carry that much energy, Rosa.”

“No one knows what I’m meant to do. I didn’t come with a set of guidelines. Theoretically, I should be able to handle it. You did, and you weren’t as strong as I can be. I can do _more_.”

He stared at her for a while. Then, “You can’t heal yourself. When the energy damages you because it’s too much, you won’t be able to recover on your own.”

“Stop worrying so much,” she ordered. “From here until we get the kid, I’m never gonna be more than a few steps away from Sam. I’ll be there to protect him from the Other, and he’ll be there to help me if I need him.” Rosa walked over to the door and opened it. “Look, I’ve had a long day. But this is gonna be over soon. We’ll find the kid, and I’ll do the rest.”

Cas took the hint. He got up and walked into the hallway. “Dean’s gonna want to be there. For the healings.”

The Dean she first met might be able to handle it, but she knew he couldn’t now. He’d only get in the way. “I can’t protect him and Sam and the kid at the same time. And carrying two or more people across a long distance is tough, even for me. Do what you can to convince him that staying home is for Sam’s safety. Because it is.”

The angel felt sick. He didn’t want to sit this one out, either. He always went on healing missions with Sam—it was kind of their thing. And Dean would be terrified to let his soulmate go alone with Rosa. The easiest person to convince would be Sam, since he would do it to protect them. But for his lovers, the next days and weeks could be hell. “This better work, Rosa,” was all he said.

***

Sam wanted to go immediately. Their short list had forty-seven names on it, but he could do at least half a dozen a day, provided Rosa could handle the flying. He wanted to find the little kid and vanquish their enemy. In his mind, that was their ticket to freedom. He and his companions could start enjoying life again.

Of course, Dean didn’t see it that way. While Cas stayed relatively quiet on the subject, at least to him, his brother planned to fight. He did not, under any circumstances, want Sam to continue with the plan. He didn’t trust that Rosa could successfully fight off an attack from the Other or anything that creature could throw at them. He also didn’t trust her as a person very much. Talking to Yemaya was in direct violation of everything he and the others stood for. And it endangered them. Now he was supposed to entrust Sam’s safety and protection to _her_?

No way.

“You don’t understand,” Sam repeated. “We can’t walk away from this. We couldn’t, even before she made the deal, but now it’s done. She’ll get killed if we don’t finish the job.”

“Fuck her, dude! None of us asked her to make a deal with that monster. We told her not to fucking do it. Cas fucking begged her not to. And because she’s _her_ , she did it anyway. Now she thinks she gets to control what happens here? She’s gonna get you both killed!” He paced around the room angrily. He didn’t direct his rage at Sam, but it filled the room nonetheless.

The healer tried not to get emotional in response. It wouldn’t help. “Dean, I need you to trust _me_.”

He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“Rosa makes rash decisions. We knew that when we brought her into our lives, both times. But from what Cas says, the amount of power she’s wielding—it could flatten a city. It’s easily as much as last time, if not more. And she’s forbidden from using it for anything other than protecting me and the kid we’re supposed to find. And if she fails at either of those things, she’ll lose the power and her life along with it. The stakes are very high for her. If nothing else, you can trust that she believes in self-preservation.” And in winning. He let out a sigh. “I know she’ll keep me safe, Dean. I know it. So, you don’t have to trust her. You can just trust me.”

He groaned and gripped at his hair like he wanted to tear it out. “I’m supposed to protect you.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not your job. We protect each other, remember? And I know that if you come with me, you’ll be in a lot more danger than I will. I’ll bring my phone in case anything happens, and we’ll get out of dodge if she can’t take this thing down. But it’s gonna be fine. I’ll be careful, okay? Please trust me on this.”

“If you go out there and get killed—”

“That’s not gonna happen, Dean. Seriously. It takes a lot to kill me, and now I have a bazooka.”

Dean sat in one of the room’s chairs and tucked his legs up to his chest. It was a childlike posture he’d developed fairly recently as a response to stress and despair. Sam tried not to call attention to it. He hoped to correct it in one of their future healing sessions. But for now, he simply moved to his soulmate’s side and crouched down. “I can check in after each one if you want me to,” he added.

After a long pause, Dean gave a nod. “You better.”

San gripped his hand tightly and kissed the back of it. He stayed with him until some of the distress dissipated.

***

Dean received more reassurance from Cas later that night. It didn’t help much, but at least he wouldn’t be alone with his fear and frustration. On the morning of Sam’s first case, the two decided to spend the day together, culminating in a trip to a local bar.

Rosa did little in the way of preparing. They lined up six comatose youngsters in order of distance from Sioux Falls. All of the ones in this session were located in the U.S., which helped ease the worry of the others a little. Somehow, being closer made them feel better. But if they had to flee, Rosa would never take Sam directly back to this house. It could be a death sentence for its occupants.

When the healer gave the go-ahead, she grabbed him by the shoulder and took him to Colorado.

The hospital room was strangely colorful despite the dreary nature of the patient. It was an undersized Chinese boy. Frail-looking. He’d fallen suddenly at recess, and doctors discovered a brain aneurysm. Since Sam had no idea how the Other attacked his victim, this case couldn’t be ruled out. Plus, it was close, and he didn’t mind helping a few other sick children on the way to the right one.

This kid had a big family, and the medical bills were stacking up, to the point that they were considering taking him off of life support or risk losing everything. Sam planned to change all that. While Rosa watched the door, he walked over to the boy and placed his hand on his forehead. “Jian,” he whispered. “You can come back now.”

To his surprise, the kid woke up with a start, his eyes wide and full of panic. He struggled against the ventilator, and the machines around him started beeping. Sam didn’t know how to remove a breathing tube without hurting him, so he simply applied a very small amount of sedation. “Shh, Jian. It’s okay. Your parents will be here soon. They’re gonna take you home.”

The boy looked at him with confusion but still managed to nod.

They waited a minute or so to make certain the Other would not be showing himself. When he didn’t, the two moved on to their next case.

New Mexico. A girl this time, who could’ve been the spitting image of Rosa as a young child. Except that she was covered in half-healed burns from a house fire. They pulled her out in time to save her life, but she spent too much time with no oxygen. Since her only family died in the blaze, no one was going to let her die without a court proceeding. This girl was a good candidate for being the one.

As such, they arrived on full alert, with Rosa insisting she physically hold the door shut, just in case. Sam healed the kid’s wounds first—including scar tissue—before bringing her brain back to life. She opened her eyes and stared at him in surprise. She could say nothing, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Catalina,” he lied. At the end of the day, she would still have no family to return to. Part of him wanted to take her with them, even when it became clear that the girl just fell victim to horrible events.

But he knew that saving their lives was as far as he could go.

The last four were all amazing children, but not the one he sought. Two boys in California. A girl in Idaho and one in Hawaii, too. All experienced miraculous recoveries to the astonishment of hospital staff and family members. Each had their own unique reactions to being awake. The child in Idaho wasn’t on a ventilator, so she asked Sam his name, asked why he helped her. He told her that he was Sam—he left out the last name—and that he thought she deserved to get better. She asked if he planned to help others, and he said that he did.

The boy in San Diego simply smiled while the boy in Los Angeles cried upon waking, as he remembered the death of his younger brother. Sam stayed just long enough to console him, to say, with certainty, that his brother was in a wonderful place, and that he would want him to be happy.

Hawaii served as the last stop. The girl was a little older than the others, but she had been in a coma for five years, meaning she was a young child when she got hurt. She was accidentally burned in her grandmother’s kitchen before tripping and hitting her head. Another good candidate, but not the right kid. She simply waved as they left.

Rosa returned the healer to the center of the research room. The arrival was meant to be jarring for the others, to prove a point. They went out, they fixed some kids, and they came back safely. Because of her.

Dean sat nearby. He sprung up from his seat and embraced Sam. He didn’t care how vulnerable he looked. “Sammy,” he whispered, squeezing tighter. He genuinely feared he would never see him again, despite regular text messages to the contrary. He couldn’t focus on anything else.

Sam smelled whiskey on him, but he didn’t mention it. If his soulmate needed a couple drinks to get through the stress, he certainly wouldn’t hold it against him.

Their angel joined them soon after. He touched Sam’s face and pressed his cheek into his arm.

No one showed Rosa more than a nod, but she didn’t notice or care. Only Sam did. He, perhaps more than the others, understood her importance in completing this mission. And he spent a significant amount of time trying to discern how much of her had been given up to gain this extra power. He didn’t discuss it with her, but he could sense it was a lot. She dreaded something deeply, in addition to regular pangs of fear. Whatever happened when she met Yemaya, she returned anything but unscathed.

Nothing he could do about it now. She didn’t seek out anyone’s counsel on how to approach the goddess, considering the overwhelming opposition to the idea. Still, if she had asked theoretically, she might have learned some useful information. Like how disinterested in compromise Yemaya was. Or how she treated people like a cat playing with a mouse.

The trio retired upstairs, where Sam spent much of the evening convincing his lovers that he survived, that he was fine, and that everything would be okay. The day’s work tired him to an extent, so he fell asleep in their arms much earlier than usual.


	31. Soul Driver

Rosa knelt down at the banks of the Big Sioux and felt the water flow between her fingers. She watched her distorted reflection. The sun glittered in the bubbling river, like stars in the daytime. She felt at peace here. The proximity to a major water source pulled on the tempest in her belly, and as such, she felt that much happier when near it. Near her master, in essence.

She had the same feeling in Hawaii.

Unsettled, she pulled her arm out and found it covered in black silt. The muddy water reminded her of the terrible ooze that Anguish transformed into, but she couldn’t smell anything this time. She shook her hand to remove it, but it didn’t go away. Instead, it crept up her arm. She couldn’t move her hand, and to her horror, it turned into a blackened claw, as though it’d been burned to a crisp.

The terrible dark substance reached her shoulder and spread across her chest. Her blouse melted off but she could see nothing of herself beneath. As the stuff climbed up her neck, she saw her ribcage concave inward, and she couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream, but no noise came out. The mud rushed into her mouth and down her throat. She gripped the stones of the riverbank as the liquid consumed her.

And she awoke with a yelp.

Before she even knew where she was, Rosa sat upright. Sweat—not malicious goo—covered her body. It soaked into her sheets and drenched her hair. “Fuck!” she told the otherwise quiet room.

Nightmares weren’t an alien concept to her, but this one felt different. Despite its brevity, the scene revealed a thousand truths. Her borrowed energy _did_ want her to be closer to water. It rewarded her by calming the hell down whenever an ocean or other source was nearby. It didn’t hurt as much when they were in Hawaii, and she imagined that going to the local river might do the same thing.

But there were other implications. Danger. A warning, perhaps coming from herself, that dealing with a water goddess increased her likelihood of drowning—figuratively and literally. And what’s more, that Yemaya could consume her at any time she pleased, that her body and life were forfeit, that she could easily expect her fate to mirror what the dream presented. The terrifying scene wasn’t too fantastic to be true. She knew it wasn’t a premonition, just her mind panicking, but it scared her nonetheless.

And there were other feelings that came along with it that Rosa didn’t fully understand. To an extent, the dream, or perhaps the power inside her, _wanted_ her to be taken by Yemaya. Somewhere in all this chaos, a part of Rosa wanted to submit to the goddess, wanted to be devoured by her strength and power. Even after such a horrifying experience, she longed to go to the river, to see if what she saw would really happen. She wondered what it would really feel like. Would she become part of Yemaya? Would she get to feel her on a spiritual or even sensual level? Or would she simply become energy at the goddess’ disposal? Did she even care what happened? She wanted it, regardless.

_What the fuck?_

She shook her head to clear it. These thoughts weren’t her own. Something about the new energy was influencing them. That, or Yemaya was doing it herself, just to screw with her. Rosa wanted the exact opposite of giving in. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid as to put herself in this position, and she planned to find a way to keep her freedom. First and foremost, by finishing the job.

Still, if these thoughts were going to persist, Rosa had to be careful. She would stay clear of natural water sources and actively fight any feelings of being drawn to them. And she would remind herself, as often as possible, what her actual goals entailed. Finding the kid. Killing the Other. Keeping her sanity.

It was already five a.m., and she had no interest in a sequel to her nightmare. So, Rosa got up, grabbed a towel, and headed for the shower.

***

When they went for their next trip, she gave no indication to Sam or anyone else that the energy was affecting her beyond the occasional stomach pain. She packed the requisite items. Her sword. A gun. A couple of snacks in case Sam felt woozy. And then they left.

The day’s patients were mostly on the east coast of the U.S., with one in the Caribbean. One in Pennsylvania, three in New York City, one in Virginia, and one in Haiti. The Pennsylvania boy was lead poisoning, while all of the New York kids became comatose from accidents. The girl in Virginia got attacked by an abusive parent—now thankfully deceased.

The Haitian child was more interesting. He’d fallen asleep during a hurricane, and while everyone insisted he didn’t go near the water nor did he receive any head trauma, he never woke up. As such, he was treated like a martyr or saint. People came to pray next to him. They left offerings. They asked for healing. The family survived on donations as a result. But Sam thought they’d prefer a living child.

When he got there, he found himself equally puzzled, as it seemed the child just had brain damage. Though he couldn’t be sure, it might be a bad concussion that no one witnessed or dry drowning. If the latter was true, the poor kid inhaled water, and it caused his lungs to paralyze, depriving his brain of oxygen. Somehow, the issue was then corrected, but not in time to save him from unconsciousness. Regardless, the boy’s body had healed itself from whatever the original cause was. Only the brain damage remained as proof of injury.

Inside, he dreamed. Mostly of happy times, playing with his friends. Some of the children Sam treated didn’t really experience anything—they were just quiet—but this one retained enough mental function to stay occupied. His eyes darted back and forth beneath their lids. He really did look like he was just sleeping.

Sam and Rosa couldn’t see this kid alone. But while they stuck out in the crowd, it wasn’t uncommon for strangers from all over the world to visit the youngster, especially after a British newspaper ran a piece on him. The two waited in line until they got their turn.

A sign in French said that no one was to touch the boy, save for his forearm. But Sam wasn’t being watched very carefully. He gently placed his hand on the kid’s forehead and closed his eyes. “Time to wake up, Emmanuel.”

The overseer in the room _did_ notice when the boy sprung to life. Candles and flowers and other offerings dropped to the cement floor as each limb started moving. Sam stepped back. The man, who seemed to be the child’s uncle, made direct eye contact with the healer. “Kisa ki te pase?” he asked. When Sam gave no response—because he didn’t speak Haitian creole—the man repeated the question much louder, adding “Di mwen!”

Sam put up his hands. They had to wait a minute to make sure the Other wasn’t hanging around, but that meant having an awkward conversation, or at least trying to. “What’s the French word for help?” he asked Rosa. He’d taken entry-level French in high school, but that was a long time ago. And while the people here spoke a different version of the language, he figured they would probably understand him.

“Uh, use ‘aidé.’ ‘Je l'ai aide,’” she whispered.

He repeated her suggestion. _I helped him._ Then, he added something a little easier: “Je suis un ange de Dieu.” _I’m an angel of God._ Why an angel wouldn’t be able to speak the local language and why one would feel the need to explain himself were not things he planned to address. He tugged on Rosa’s sleeve in the hope that they could leave now.

But Rosa had one last thing she wanted to say. “Dis tout le monde.” _Tell everyone._ Literally, _tell the world_.

The man’s final question “Kijan ou rele?”—an inquiry about Sam’s name—went unanswered. They flew from the island at a record pace, and Rosa touched them down outside Bobby’s house. But they didn’t immediately go inside. Sam wanted to know why the hell she encouraged the man to spread the news about his healings.

She sighed. “Well, for one, he already saw you, so I think it’s important that we control the message. You told him you’re a damn angel, so this is the work of God. If people think you’re the Second Coming, they’re gonna be less abrasive when they catch us healing their kids.” They might also weed out a few more possibilities as desperate people pleaded for their help. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up. “But all of that assumes that they’ll be believed, that the world won’t think it’s an elaborate hoax.”

“It might alert the Other that I’m zeroing in,” he pointed out.

“Good,” she replied quickly before heading for the house. “Then we can get rid of him faster.”

***

By the end of the week, they’d cured twenty-four kids—none of which were the one they searched for. They’d worked their way into South America and Europe, with the remaining children being from Africa and Asia. But Sam needed a break. He took the weekend off to be with his lovers, and to perform the first of many treatments to correct Dean’s resilient symptoms.

He and his soulmate slipped away on Saturday morning. They needed to put as much time between this session and his return to healing sick kids, so that he could recover. After breakfast, the two took a drive south, found a secluded area, and began.

Fear and anxiety were big jobs. He wanted to tackle the depression first, as he had limited success with it in the past. Since Dean no longer had the memories that fueled it, he had to work on the toxic thought processes, and on his brain itself, which didn’t produce chemicals at the right levels. The latter was more straightforward, so he started there.

He held Dean close and rested his chin on the man’s shoulder. With one hand, he touched Dean’s cheek, near his right eye. He told the cooling energy to mend the broken processes, to make the brain function better. As it flooded into Dean’s head, he relaxed until he passed out. Sam didn’t expect that result, but he tried not to let it worry him. This was new territory. Resetting a person’s brain chemistry would certainly have side-effects.

With his brother unconscious, Sam moved onto the second stage. He asked the energy to seek out anything that grew from the trauma. He wanted to break the chains of thinking that hurt Dean the most. Self-loathing. Guilt. An overwhelming feeling that he wasn’t doing a good enough job, particularly in protecting Sam and Cas. Sadness at how their last life turned out. And all the shit he ended up believing because John Winchester made sure of it. Sam couldn’t erase the fact that Dean thought these things. But he could mend the impetus for it happening. He could give his soulmate the tools required to pull himself out of depression, and he could ease his tendency toward sadness.

It took twenty minutes to do the second part, while only five for the first. At the end, Dean remained asleep for a while. Eventually, he slowly awoke, looked at Sam, and smiled.

“How are you feeling?” the healer asked.

“I don’t feel like shit.” His smile grew bigger. “At all.”

Sam could barely contain his excitement. There we go. There was his Dean, peeking out from behind a veil of trauma and disease. Despite everything going on, he looked happy. Unburdened. Not cured—far from it—but so much healthier than before. Sam’s biggest concern was whether or not it would stick. He worried that the brain would fall back into its old pattern, and the thoughts would rage on again as a result.

But for now, he would celebrate the victory. Next weekend, or after they found the kid, he would start in on the anxiety. Then the fear. Then anything else that remained.

He kissed him. “That’s fantastic.”

***

During the break, Bobby and Ellen avoided Rosa like the plague. They tried to remain supportive of Sam, but fell short there, too, either out of fear or discomfort. Frank had a significantly different reaction. He wanted to hear everything. All the cases. The confrontations. The families. He was naturally curious, and being a former cop only encouraged it. He didn’t care who he got the information from, either, so he actually spoke to the witch whenever he got a chance.

She filled him in. There was no need, in her mind, for Rosa to contribute to the research now. She and Sam were doing all the grunt work, so she kicked back during the time off. Her descriptions probably weren’t as colorful as Sam might have made them. She reported the basics and finer details like it was a scientific research mission. But at least she didn’t leave anything out. The healer might have sugarcoated the realities of some of the kids’ situations or played down the danger of normal people seeing them do their work.

Rosa had no need to tell anything but the truth on this matter. She couldn’t make the others feel better about the plan if she tried. And honestly, she didn’t even want to. They would see the value in what she did once everything was finished. But not a minute before.

Sam, of course, spent most of his time with his partners, recovering and helping them come to terms with what he and Rosa were doing. The witch didn’t think his choice of doing a major heal on Dean was a coincidence. Bitter medicine went down better with a little sugar. If his mood improved, he wouldn’t be as difficult to handle.

Pessimism of the whole situation infiltrated Rosa’s psyche. She still had confidence that she would complete the job, but her own fate seemed increasingly grim. She endured a version of the same nightmare every night since the first one. She would go to a body of water and be eaten or drowned, either by black slime or muddy water or sometimes ice. And every time she woke, it was to the feeling that she wanted it. That she _needed_ it to happen. That her absolute submission to Yemaya was the only thing that mattered.

Once she wrangled her mind back to some level of sanity, she was exhausted. Angry. Her own mood suffered as a result, and the pain in her abdomen didn’t help.

When Monday arrived, Sam sensed her negative attitude but didn’t mention it. He simply tolerated the occasional trite statement and tried to stay on course. His only goal was to find that kid (and help a few others along the way). The sooner he accomplished that, the better things would get for everyone.

At the end of the day, they were up to thirty children healed and still no sign of Earth’s best friend or the Other. When they returned, the duo found everyone crowded around a TV.

It was a news report, on them. Specifically, the station had on a woman they didn’t recognize from Colombia. They did help a child there, but they thought they’d done so undisturbed. Apparently not. The interview was dubbed, so she heard bits of the Spanish in between a mediocre English translation. “The woman had curly hair,” said a middle-aged nurse. “Latina. Brown skin like mine. Some type of weapon. But the man was white and very tall.”

“And what did they do?”

“The woman didn’t do anything. Nothing. But the man, he touched the little girl’s face. And she woke up. After three years! God, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The interviewer shifted in his chair out of discomfort. He believed her. “And then what happened?”

“The man spoke to the little girl. He told her to be calm, to be strong. He said someone would come to help her. And after that—the woman walked over to the man, and they both disappeared. I swear on my mother’s grave, they disappeared.”

The taped interview cut off, and the news report turned back to a live host, who indicated that there were four similar cases last week with witnesses, and that every day there were more reports of children waking up from comas suddenly and without a viable explanation. Some had old wounds miraculously healed, including skull fractures and burns. Like they were never there.

“Is this the work of God?” the reporter asked, off-script. He looked haunted. Something so good for the world made him terrified. That, above everything else, startled Sam. When the reporter pulled himself together, “We’ll be following this story closely as it continues to develop. If you have any tips on the identities of the people involved, please call the number below. For CNN, this is Diego Suárez.”

A different newsperson came on and the subject switched to a bombing in Eastern Europe.

Bobby shut off the TV. “That was fast.”

The first story broke around noon, while Sam was still healing kids on a different continent. As of yet, none of the day’s patients had made the 24-hour news cycle. But it wouldn’t be long. Two of them were in Mumbai. And he had five more left that resided in major cities in East Asia, including Beijing, Hong Kong, Seoul, and Tokyo. Kinda hard to avoid detection in places with massive population density, especially since both of them stuck out looked like foreigners. They would have to be careful.

“It was bound to happen,” Rosa said before Sam could say anything about their attempts—or lack thereof—to remain anonymous. “It doesn’t sound like there’s any pictures or video yet, so that’s good.”

“Yet?!” Bobby wasn’t pleased.

“Maybe we should try to do the last eleven in one day,” Rosa offered. After all, Sam could do more than that and still keep himself from getting sick. The only reason he didn’t was to save enough energy to help her out in battle and to heal himself if needed.

It would be more dangerous, but Sam actually liked the idea. One less day out in the field, and if they found the kid, the whole thing could be over. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Bobby snorted. “Well, get it done with. If they ID you, that’s gonna be more than awkward, considering you’re dead.”

“Just don’t come back that way,” Frank quipped. Ellen kicked his chair in disappointment before leaving the room. Bobby got up on stiff joints and followed her out.

Dean made a noise that sounded like something between a groan and a whine. He hated the idea. He didn’t want Sam to strain himself and he definitely didn’t want him in harm’s way. But at this point, he wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t have the energy. And maybe Sam knew best. After all, he handled the PTSD thing expertly, and he understood his own limits. Dean took hold of Sam’s arm and leaned against it. He could trust him. He could always trust him.

Cas, who stood silent the entire time, finally spoke when he had a smaller audience. “I’d say you should get disguises, but I think the cat’s out of the bag already.”

Actually, Rosa didn’t hate the idea of at least covering her face. Nothing special. Just a scarf or a t-shirt or something. She knew Sam wouldn’t go for it personally, though, since it would probably scare the kids. But there was no reason his bodyguard couldn’t. The patients didn’t even notice her half the time. She made a mental note to find something that would work.

“We’ll just move more quickly,” Sam returned. And thanks to the time difference, it would be night for most of their trip.


	32. Domino

The day started like the others, except that Rosa brought along the bandana she wore on her head when she summoned Yemaya. The first two stops were incredibly rural, in northern Asia. For those, she didn’t bother. Both locations barely had electricity, let alone CCTV or phones with cameras. One was literally a tent belonging to a nomadic group. The whole tribe simply carried the little boy with them wherever they went. They fed him a liquified diet and they bathed him. Their devotion was impressive.

Obviously, they were surprised to see two strangers standing over their half-dead comrade, but when he awoke? No one cared. They were too busy celebrating. It seemed they wanted to invite Sam and Rosa to the party, but alas, they had other places to be.

Once in China, however, things changed. Even the smaller “towns” had hundreds of thousands of people, and everyone used the latest technology. Sam planned to keep his head down, to work in the shadows wherever possible, while the witch pulled the cloth over her nose and mouth. The first kid in Beijing was revived without incident, but the second had a family member sleeping in a chair nearby.

They tried not to wake the old woman, but it didn’t work. When she saw Sam touching her daughter—regardless of the fact that it was the top of her head—she began screaming in Mandarin, which neither of them spoke. But a brief conversation with Cas helped a little. Sam looked down at his palm, where the angel scribbled a handful of phrases in Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. He knew he would butcher it, but he had to give it his best shot.

“Wǒ lái bāngmáng a,” he spoke just loud enough for the woman to hear him. _I come to help_.

She quieted. Her eyes darted form Sam to Rosa and back again. She still looked intensely frightened and uneasy, but she didn’t say anything more—perhaps assuming based on his terrible pronunciation that he wouldn’t understand her.

He carefully placed his hand on the girl’s head once more and spoke quietly. Though it was in English, the meaning would still go through, along with the energy to back it up. “Chunhua, you can wake up now.” Not five seconds after he finished speaking, the girl roused quickly and began mumbling something he didn’t understand. The old woman rushed to her side. The only word from her he could comprehend was “Xièxiè.”

_Thank you_.

When no monster showed itself, the two moved on to their next case. They managed to avoid being filmed until Seoul, where they landed right next to a group of horrified med students—who immediately whipped out their phones as Sam got to work on his patient. His long hair provided some cover, and Rosa tried to step in between them and the healer. When they got pushy, she whipped out her gun and held it to her side. She wouldn’t be caught threatening them, but she made it clear that they would not be interrupted.

The students got what they wanted, anyway: the first solid proof of a child being instantaneously cured of a coma. By the amount of chatter, it seemed they were both astounded and pleased. The two left as quickly as possible.

A hospice patient in Australia caused far less problems, since the place operated on a skeleton crew. But they found no relief in Africa. Of the five children—admittedly a very small number for such a big continent—three were in major cities. Lagos and Nairobi. Since Kenya was more developed than South Dakota, they were filmed by security cameras the moment they arrived. Nigeria wasn’t far behind in technology, and though Rosa couldn’t be sure, they were probably filmed there as well.

The three more rural areas provided a little relief at the end of a very long day.

A child, younger than the target, was the only witness in Lesotho. In Mozambique, a busy doctor walked right by them without noticing their presence. And finally, Sam was mistaken as a missionary in Guinea-Bissau, so Rosa removed her bandana and played along.

After all that, not one child was the one they needed. Tired and frustrated, Rosa brought them both back to the States. They would have to drum up new leads, and she had no idea how long that could take. In the meantime, she would have to tolerate the nightmares and pain from foreign energy in her gut.

***

Sam didn’t feel terribly downtrodden at their failure to secure the target. He saved almost fifty kids, all around the world. He gave them back their lives. He mended families. It felt good.

And until they had more candidates, he could focus on helping Dean.

Cas gave the Winchesters space to accomplish the task, focusing instead on news reports about Sam and Rosa. He might not be the best researcher, but he sure as hell could watch television and take notes. The video—thankfully grainy—from South Korea was heavily circulated. It had a decent shot of Rosa’s eyes before she turned her back on them, and anyone who knew Sam could recognize him, but it would be impossible for a stranger to identify either of them based on that footage alone.

The tapes from Nairobi came in a few days later. They were more high-resolution, but they didn’t catch much. Just the backs of the duo’s heads, their clothes, and of course their hair styles. He couldn’t help but smile at that. Sam hadn’t had a haircut since before they died, so it grew out a little. Cas liked it. He liked the way it brushed against him when they were together, and he loved how soft it was.

And now it had a practical use: to hide his face from security cameras and impromptu paparazzi.

Forty-seven revived children put even the biggest skeptics in their place. But the various news outlets could not decide on an explanation. Some ran with the idea that he was an angel or other supernatural being—possibly an alien. Others insisted some government program was responsible. Since most of the cures happened in the U.S. or nearby, fingers start pointing at the American military. A trial drug or something being tested on living patients. Sam’s apparent size and Rosa being armed enforced that theory.

The miraculous healing of old injuries didn’t fit with that explanation, however. Which brought people back to calling Sam an angel or possibly even Jesus (the hair encouraged that). They had religious scholars giving speeches as to whether he could be endowed with god-based gifts. Many said it was impossible. A few didn’t. One guy in particular—an archbishop from somewhere on the west coast—said that he didn’t think Sam was Jesus or an angel, but that what he was doing _felt_ like the work of angels. Cas made a note of his name. He thought that maybe the guy knew a bit more than most Catholic clergy.

Various news sources also had on representatives of the military, who flat out denied any involvement. Law enforcement officials were unable to find any useable fingerprints. No one could really explain how the two got into buildings without using the doors or how they left the same way. They had no idea how Sam and Rosa could jump large distances in a matter of seconds. A few desperate news programs brought on alien “experts” to try and explain that, but even they said this was not usually how their aliens acted, so at best they suggested the duo were a new species.

Cas knew that none of the supposed alien and UFO sightings were true. Many could be explained by other creatures, and the rest were hoaxes and hallucinations. He had no doubt that life existed on other planets, but none of them had found Earth yet and vice versa. Probably for the best.

He sat back with a bowl of popcorn as the current channel started to trot out family members of comatose children that _hadn’t_ been chosen. Picking up his pen and notebook, he wrote down as much information as possible about each one. Most of them could easily be ruled out. But maybe there were a few worth looking into.

The angel knew that some of them could have troublesome motives. Maybe they wanted to “unmask” Sam and Rosa, or capture them. Maybe they wanted adults or large groups healed. Or maybe they were followers of the Other, hoping to trap and kill the healer.

He would bring his concerns up with the others, but, for now, he just collected information.

A few of the speakers stood out above the others. One woman in Vietnam had _two_ children—twins—both in comas after they were caught in a mudslide. Another was a street-hardened Canadian teenager asking for help for her sister, a burn victim who she felt wasn’t receiving the best care through the government. A Navajo man pleaded for help with his daughter, who had been in a coma for almost a decade with no discernable reason why.

There were also communities begging for help. Villages all around the world asking for their children to be cured.

After two hours of watching, Cas didn’t think he could take much more. He hated watching these people so upset and hopeless. He wanted to help all of them. And he knew Sam would, too, which is why he volunteered to do this by himself.

The last story was a young girl in western India. Kolkata. She had no living family to speak of, but by process of elimination she was the heir to a significant family fortune. The plea came from a group of caretakers, who tended to the girl—aged seven—and the gigantic property her family once inhabited. They explained that she deserved to grow up and have a beautiful wedding and fill the house with children. Cas thought that was terribly presumptuous, but it didn’t matter. If the girl awoke, she would have a significant amount of control over her own life. She could decide what she wanted to do with it.

Some elements of the story were particularly interesting. A simple fall down the stairs reportedly caused her condition, but the reason she had no family was not explained. Cas thought perhaps they might have been killed by the Other. But that could easily mean it was a trap. Since the people asking for help weren’t loving family, their motives might be anything.

When he finished writing, he circled the last entry. Avli Aabha Guhathakurta. The caretakers showed only a worn polaroid of the girl—a little suspicious—but she looked like many of their other patients did. Just a child resting peacefully.

Cas remembered that Anguish favored India for a while, so it wouldn’t surprise him if the Other met the creature there. Perhaps the deity even set up shop there or called the nation home. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced this one was the right choice. He would bring it up the next time he could get Rosa and Sam in the same room. This painful process could be over in no time.

***

A few more days of watching TV news added about five more possible subjects, bringing the agreed-upon total to eight. He felt good that he could be helpful. But he stressed that any one of these could be ambushes, either by the Other or any party interested in a man who could perform miracles. “They’re reaching out to us,” he explained. “Which means they know we’re coming.”

Sam and Rosa said they understood the risks. They planned to take extra precautions—such as landing outside the properties first and carrying more weapons. But they turned down offers of help from the others, saying that it would only jeopardize everyone’s safety.

“We go in the morning.”

***

That night, Rosa’s nightmares took an even more disturbing turn. She found herself back on the banks of Yemaya’s river in Nigeria, but she wasn’t playing with the water this time. Instead, she faced the water on her hands and knees, and though she couldn’t seem to look at herself or move, she knew she wasn’t wearing any clothes.

A hand glided across her back and down her side. She screamed, but only in her head. She thought for sure the hand’s destination was somewhere between her legs, but it stopped. It began moving in a loose circle around Rosa’s stomach, which she realized now hung low, only a few inches off the ground. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask what was going on, but no sounds came out. She couldn’t do anything about any of this.

Eventually, the hand’s owner—Yemaya, of course—leaned in close to her ear and spoke. “You’re almost ready.”

Ready for what? But as soon as she thought it, she knew. She was pregnant. The energy she carried wasn’t borrowed power, but an infant placed there by a goddess of fertility. And it was almost time to give birth. How could she have been so blind? Or course she carried life. She _belonged_ to Yemaya. She would carry a thousand fetuses for her if she so desired it, and do so feeling honored for the opportunity.

“I’m afraid of delivering,” she managed to reply.

“Don’t be. Even if you die, I will have what I need, and you will have died for me.” Her tongue extended and licked the side of Rosa’s face. What should have made her skin crawl didn’t. What should have terrified her actually felt calming. “You want to die for me, do you not?”

She nodded emphatically. “I do.”

“Good.” Yemaya’s hand moved lower and touched Rosa. “Now give me what I need.”

She woke up screaming and writhing in her bed. Confused and horrified, she accidentally made the house shake with her power. It took several moments to make it stop. When she regained some form of control, Rosa frantically touched her own stomach, searching for evidence of a pregnancy—that wasn’t there. Her abdomen was the same size it always was. The level of firmness hadn’t changed. She didn’t have a fetus inside of her.

Just to be certain, she got up and stumbled over to a full-length mirror. She wore just underwear, a tank top, and buckets of sweat. Careful examination showed no further evidence of the dream’s vile implications.

Regardless, a minute later, she vomited in a trash can.

For a second, she thought it might be morning sickness. But Rosa knew the real cause. The things she said in the dream, along with being groped, made her feel incredibly nauseous. The nightmares felt so real. She _felt_ pregnant, even now. The energy moving inside her body seemed more like a living thing than non-specific power. And her head was filled with thoughts she would never have unless her entire body chemistry changed. Or, unless she endured the influence of a creature much stronger than herself.

Staring at the mirror, she held the back of her hand against her mouth. Maybe today would be the last day with this problem. Maybe she could be free of this burden.  

Of course, things could get a lot worse once the deal was completed, depending on how Yemaya intended to collect on it. Rosa hoped, desperately, that it wouldn’t be anything like what the dreams might be predicting. A painful, horrifying death or unending torture as a surrogate womb. Both were appalling prospects, and the strange sense that part of her would be okay with it only made her feel worse.

It took a long time before she could compose herself enough to start her day. No use thinking about possible futures when they had a more pressing issue to take care of.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, everyone wanted to know why she felt the need to cause an earthquake. “Just testing,” she lied. “I wanted to make sure everything’s connected properly.” The truth was way too personal and disconcerting to tell anyone about, even Cas. And she couldn’t have them thinking that she was losing control. They might pull the plug on everything, and then her ass would really be on the line.

She forced herself to eat breakfast, entirely to preserve her strength. Rosa wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t think she ever would be again.

Her efforts to cover her tracks were unsuccessful with Sam, who could feel every emotion she had. In fact, he felt it on two levels, simultaneously like an angel and like a human. He knew she was terrified, and he sensed the nausea, too. When no one else could hear them, “What’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

He scoffed. “We’re working together on this, Rosa. I need to know if there’s something wrong.”

Yawning, she pushed her empty plate away. “I don’t think my body likes carrying this energy around,” she said carefully. “It feels like a parasite. It’s making me sick, and I’m having some fucked up nightmares. I’m looking forward to getting rid of it.”

“You should have told me sooner. I can help with some of that.” He touched her neck. Cold energy dripped into her body and settled in her stomach, soothing the nausea away. It didn’t take very much power at all, and he needed Rosa at her best. “If we don’t find the kid today, I can help with the nightmares, too. You just have to ask.”

She glanced up at him with a hint of annoyance, but it soon faded. All Sam ever did was try and help people. Whatever that looked like, he did it. As such, he was only trying to help her. “We should get going.”

“Okay.”

Both planned to cover their faces today. Despite his interest in remaining friendly-looking to the children, Sam knew that they were, at best, walking into places where the occupants would want to record them. He knew it would be difficult to get a positive ID without his fingerprints—and he planned to wear gloves right up until the actual healing—but there was no point in testing it. Facial recognition software leapt forward substantially since his death. For all he knew, they might be able to identify him off of an old driver’s license photo.

As for protection, he had a gun now, too. Rosa upped the caliber on hers, and of course she would keep her magical blade. They considered bringing the angel sword. Sam thought his companions were vulnerable while he was gone, so he wanted it to stay with them. Same with the Colt, which only had two bullets left, anyway. Bobby needed incredibly rare materials to make more.

They dressed in plain clothing, took no wallets, and said goodbye to their housemates.


	33. Burning for You

The first kid was a boy in Norway who suffered chemical burns while visiting his father at work. He looked absolutely awful. Half of his face was a mess of scar tissue and boils. He no longer had an eye on that side. The child’s body wasn’t much better.

But as Sam approached, he realized he’d been duped. The kid wasn’t in a coma. In fact, he was just pretending to be asleep. In the corner of the room, a worried mother sat quietly in a chair. Sam waned to be angry, but he understood. This kid didn’t have a good life, regardless of being conscious. He was completely blind. Deaf in one ear. Unable to walk. And at only nine years old, he wanted to die. That alone was enough to require action.

Sam ignored the woman, walked up to the child, and began healing him. “I know you’re awake,” he told the boy. “It’s okay.”

The job required a bit more energy than usual, but he wanted to fix everything, including the production of a new eye, essentially from scratch. When he finished, he motioned to Rosa that it was time to leave. “This isn’t the one.” He caught the mother crying in happiness as they departed.

Though it was a long shot, the next stop were the twins from Vietnam. There was no catch here. They simply needed help, and their family begged for it. Sam performed in front of a crowd of at least twenty people, all of whom said very little and simply let him do his job. When he finished, he turned to look at them and saw a round of smiles. He had to stifle his own emotional reaction as a few tears formed in his eyes.

Next, they landed in Saudi Arabia, to a room full of photographers. The child wasn’t in a coma. It was a dead body painted to look alive. Sam felt dizzy and frustrated, and the flashing lights didn’t help. Rightfully angry, Rosa produced her gun and waved it at the douchebags who brought them there on false pretenses. When one guy reached for her bandana to rip it off, she shot him in the kneecap. The two left as quickly as they arrived.

The fourth location was the one Cas favored. A sprawling complex of buildings owned by a deceased Bengali family in India. Somewhere in the building was a little girl who had a team of people caring for her and her inheritance. “What’s the name?” he asked his comrade, who kept a small piece of paper with bits of information.

“Avli.”

He repeated it to himself. Then, “There’s something weird here.”

“Weird how?”

He shook his head and peered off into the distance. “I’m not sure. This place feels like death. But there are a lot of people here. How many caretakers did Cas say there were?”

She checked the notes. “Five.”

“Yeah, there’s way more than five people here.” He gulped. “And something else, too.” After a long pause, he set his hand on the front gate. “The good news is that this is probably the right place. The bad news is that they know we’re coming.”

Instead of fear, Rosa actually smiled. “Let’s get to work, then.” She took hold of him and began flying around the property. Her movements were silent to humans, and they couldn’t see her even while she could look at them. Sure enough, there were more than fifty guys dressed like the ones who attacked Bobby’s house. They had to do a little damage control before finding the girl.

Outside one room, which only had a single door, Rosa quietly blockaded it. With their fire power, the cult members would get out eventually, but this could certainly slow them down. She repeated the action at another place across the complex, this time with two doors to what appeared to be a shared living area.

Satisfied that the human combatants would be minimal at least at first, Rosa took her charge to the room where Avli Aabha was being kept.

She couldn’t help but let out a whimper. The room looked like it was on fire. In an arch above the child’s bed, a semi-translucent creature hovered. She could vaguely see arms made of flames and a few dark spots that seemed to indicate a large mouth and eyes. Giant horns like a bull. Mostly though, it was an inferno, licking at the walls and ceiling. The heat from it irritated the skin on her face.

For the first time ever, she dropped her sword.

Sam spun around and looked at her with a puzzled expression. “What’s wrong? Rosa, what’s wrong?” He’d never seen her like that. Uncontrollably frightened.

Stammering, “You—you don’t see it?!”

“See what?” He turned to look at the same space in the room that she stared at, but he found only peeling wallpaper and a stand that delivered IV saline solution. But he knew better than to dismiss it. And the room still felt _wrong_. “Rosa, what’s there?”

She raised her now-empty hand until the palm faced what she could only assume was the Other. “You’re done,” she told it. “You’re fucking done.”

It took a little internal maneuvering, but she quickly tapped into the strange energy and connected it, like a power cord, to her ability to move things. She let out a gasp. Her skin tingled, and her whole body felt weightless. Fire was just particles and energy, like everything else. Her arm shook as she forced the power through.

The scream that emanated from the Other was heard by both of them, to the point that Sam wisely backed away from the source.

Rosa tore a giant piece off of the creature in the first blast. A clean cut that didn’t seem like it would ever mend. But she wasn’t even close to being done. Another slash to the lower half. The disconnected part flapped around on its own, like a fish caught on land. As it did so, real scorch marks appeared on the wall. Sam watched the empty space, helpless to do anything.

The Other fought back. A gigantic beam of fire shot directly at her, and she had to quickly switch from aggression to defense. With her supercharged power, she created a shield. Slowly, painfully, she pushed the onslaught back towards its creator. Behind them, the closed and locked door started being kicked from the outside. Sam heard voices. He drew his gun and pointed it at the worn wooden structure. He couldn’t battle a god, but he sure as hell could fight its followers.

She held the Other’s attacks at bay with one hand while returning to her original task. Another chunk sliced off. A few cuts here and there. With each wound, the Other roared at her in anger, pain, and possibly disbelief. If it knew about Rosa, it had no idea what she could do now. After chopping up the deity for a while, it was still alive and defiant. She switched gears. An archangel could literally pull a normal angel apart. Disintegrate it. She could do the same here. With resolve, Rosa pinned the monster against the wall and began blasting it with Yemaya’s energy.

“Die, you piece of shit,” she ordered.

Rosa watched as the edges of the god turned to red smoke and dissipated. It screeched and fought her every step of the way, and the process felt like it took hours. She picked him apart. She pulled and twisted and ripped at the creature until, at last, the bellowing drifted away. Always one to be thorough, she continued her pummeling a few moments longer, attacking an empty room.

Eventually, she lowered her arms, now sore from overuse, and collapsed to her knees. Breathing heavy, she stared at the wall for a long time.

A hard kick to the door brought her back to reality. She hadn’t noticed the pounding before—she was a little busy—but now the extra threat was apparent. Whether or not the followers knew their god was dead, they were still dangerous. She retrieved her sword and drew her gun. Scrambling to her feet, “I’ve got this. Get the kid awake.”

Sam did as he was told. He took off a glove, strode up to the girl, and placed his hand on the side of her head. “It’s safe now, Avli.”

The child slowly awoke, groggy. It was different than the others. She seemed more like she’d been drugged than brain damaged, despite a very real injury to the base of her skull. With sleepy eyes, she looked at the healer and gave a soft smile. “Hi, Mr. Sam.”

His eyes widened, but he told himself that a child with potentially infinite knowledge probably wouldn’t have much trouble coming up with his name. He pulled down the cloth over his mouth. “We have to go, Avli.” He offered both arms to pick her up, and she acquiesced.

“Earth said you were coming,” said her tiny voice. She had an accent but spoke English well.

“Oh yeah?”

“She kept me company.” After a moment of looking around, “Where are we, Sam?”

Taken aback, “Isn’t this your house, Avli? Your parents owned—”

But the little girl shook her head. “My ma and me live in a flat in Kharagpur. Then he came, and she was gone, and I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know this place.”

Sam adjusted his grip on the girl. The family name of the people who once owned this property was the same as Avli’s, but maybe that was the point. The Other targeted the people here because of it. They were just very unlucky. Whatever happened to them, and to the girl’s mother, it wasn’t good. It could be the same fate of the Living Tree’s followers who helped resurrect the trio. Or it could be worse.

None of this needed to be said to a seven-year-old. And they had more important things to deal with. “Cover your ears,” he told her. When she did, both he and Rosa fired at the exit. She lit up her sword and quickly opened the door. Two of the combatants were dead, while three others fled in the opposite direction upon seeing them. “Close your eyes,” Sam instructed. He didn’t want her to see what came next.

Rosa ran after the retreating monks. She stabbed one in the back and cut off another’s head. The last one got a less than gentle angelic push into the far wall. Sam heard—and _felt—_ his bones break in a hundred places.

“Hey, let’s just get out of here!” he called after her. These people couldn’t do much without their leader. It didn’t seem like they could even use fire any longer. At worst, a few might come looking for them in South Dakota, but they would easily find themselves outgunned. There was no reason to stay here and kill them.

The witch wanted to keep going, to clear this place of its demented prayer circle—but Sam was right. She killed the Other. They saved the kid. The mission was pretty much over. Rosa holstered her weapons and removed her disguise. With a sigh, she strode up to them, wrapped her arms around both, and bolted.

Back in Sioux Falls, she took the child off of Sam’s hands, preferring to bring her in personally. She wanted everyone to see that _she_ accomplished the task. Sure, the healer’s unique ability was an essential component, but they would both be dead if not for Rosa’s power and strength. Though she had no desire to bond with the kid, she carried her in on her hip. Living proof of the accomplishment.

Needless to say, the others were a little shocked to see them return, without so much as a scratch, and with a slightly dazed child in tow. They studied the newcomer with curiosity and a little trepidation.

The little girl’s hair was messy but clean. She had dark skin and big eyes, and she wore a light blue nightgown with no shoes. She seemed like a normal child, at least until she started talking. As Ellen brought her something to eat and drink, they all gathered around. Munching on a sandwich, she smiled. “This is good,” she declared. Then, “When will we go see the Living Tree? Earth says he needs my help.”

“Soon,” Rosa answered for everyone. “As soon as you’re ready.”

“It’s important not to go on an empty stomach, though,” Sam added. Avli was still a kid. She deserved a chance to relax, get some food, and take stock of her situation. She didn’t even know most of the people in the room. He thought she should have a chance to breathe.

When a new figure entered the room—one that everyone temporarily forgot—the girl’s eyes lit up. Her smile got bigger. “Mr. Castiel! I know you!”

The angel stopped, and his mouth dropped open. He’d been right about which kid it was. And now she sat in their research room. He set down a bottle of faux champagne (of the non-alcoholic variety), turned, and walked over to the girl. With a smile of his own, he crouched down to her level. “Hello, Avli. I know you, too. I saw you on TV.”

“Earth told me all about you,” the girl explained. Her feet bounced up and down on the side of the chair, which was way too tall for them to touch the floor. “You’re Mr. Sam’s husband.”

Cas blushed. Not technically married, but functionally? Of course he was. Perhaps the universe didn’t care about a piece of paper or a ceremony. “That’s right,” he replied.

“She likes you a lot.”

He blinked and sat down on the floor. “Why’s that?”

Avli giggled. “You could go wherever you wanted, but you wanted to be on Earth. She likes that you did that, and she likes the reason why.” The girl turned and looked directly at Dean, who sat near the edge of the group. “She’s glad to have you back. And she’s really glad you helped me.”

There was a sort of oldness about the child that threw everyone off-guard. Something undeniably different. Not just knowing stuff a seven-year-old wasn’t supposed to know or spending a lot of time with an ancient god. Something else. Cas had a hunch he knew what it was, but he kept the idea to himself for now.

She finished the small sandwich Ellen brought and started in on the ruffled chips. These also seemed to delight her, as did the glass of milk. Once finished, “I think we should go see the Living Tree now, Miss Rosa, if that’s okay.”

The witch was relieved. She had several things to do yet, and re-contacting the friendly skeleton tree was a big one. With a grin, she offered her hand. When Avli took it, they were back in the field in Montana. The beautiful tree still stood there, but now there was a small amount of snow on the ground. Rosa put her coat around the kid and picked her up, since letting her get frostbite would probably count as not protecting her. Avli indicated that they should go up to the tree itself, so they did.

Rosa placed on hand on the trunk. “Living Tree?” she asked the ether. “I have a young lady who’s come to see you.”

Like before, the ground shook, and slowly, the creature she met last time emerged from the ground behind them. It was still just as unsettling to look at. An oozing skeleton with tree legs and frozen, elongated arms. “Don’t be afraid,” she told the girl. “He just looks scary.”

“Why would I be afraid?” was the reply.

Okay then. Rosa shrugged before approaching the creature with her charge.

The Living Tree had no facial expressions, but somehow the witch thought he seemed happy, if not overjoyed. Intuition maybe. He leaned in and tilted his head to one side. “It is an honor to speak with you.”

Avli laughed at that. Not dismissively. She just thought it was funny that a god spoke to her like an adult. “You can bring back any of your friends using wood from one of their trees. Like this one.” She pointed. “You have to chop off a branch and use that instead of bones. You know, in the ceremony. Then they’ll be back like Mr. Sam was back. And if they go away again, you just need another branch.”

Rosa got the impression that the Living Tree would have hugged Avli if he could have. “Thank you so very much. You have greatly helped me and my people. We are grateful.”

“Earth is very grateful for you, Living Tree. She’s happy that we can help.”

The creature bowed his head in reverence. Eventually, he departed, leaving another beautiful tree behind. If she kept meeting him here, she could start a forest. And while it seemed like she might never need to speak to the deity again, Rosa imagined she might be able to call in a favor if she ever needed one. Bring somebody back down the line.

Provided she retrieved at least some of the person’s bones. Now, that was a revelation. It made sense, but the implications were something else entirely. The Living Tree had his followers dig up Cas and the Winchesters and steal some of their bones. Which meant that there were still remains out there, in a cemetery in Philadelphia, of their original bodies. Without meaning to, Avli answered an unasked question about the resurrection process.

The girl wanted to stay just a little longer to look at the tree, so they did. When both were shivering, they returned to the warmth of Bobby’s house.


	34. Oh Very Young

Avli instantly grew attached to the adults, especially Rosa, Sam, and Cas. She had no family to speak of, and she said no one was looking for her. So, they resigned themselves to becoming her primary caregivers, at least for now.

Frank gave up his room for the kid, choosing instead to create makeshift sleeping quarters in a relatively unused sitting room at the front of the house. Bobby installed a door for privacy.

While the girl was technically Rosa’s responsibility, her mentor did a lot of the work. He brushed her hair, brought her some real clothing (and then later took her to pick out things she liked), held long conversations with her about the world, and generally spent a lot of time babysitting. It made him happy. Even being referred to as “Mr. Castiel” seemed to lift his spirits.

Rosa didn’t know how to do most of that shit, nor did she particularly want to, so she was glad to see him taking the lead.

Sam assumed more of a teacher-like role. Since Avli wanted to know about his healing—especially about the other children he healed and any stories from his healing business—he told her, leaving out some of the more gruesome and depressing details. But he couldn’t spend too much time focused on the girl, as he still had several more steps in helping Dean recover. That took precedence. As such, Dean didn’t get involved with the kid at all. He had to focus on himself, and to be honest, Avli creeped him out a little.

Ellen and Bobby also pitched in with basic childcare. Food, mostly, and making sure she didn’t accidentally hurt herself on a property full of weapons and car parts. Frank gave advice now and then, as he did help raise a child briefly.

As for Rosa, her primary role was protection. While the Other was dead and the Living Tree satisfied, any number of other creatures may have heard about the child and what she knew. There would always be a risk of danger to her. And Yemaya was very clear on that.

Another problem she needed to deal with. The job was over. Though she still had some power left, and for the most part, the nightmares were gone, she couldn’t just keep it. She wasn’t allowed to. Which meant going back to see the water goddess and returning it. And hoping that she would survive the ordeal. After all, Yemaya nearly killed her once already—along with her friends—and the dreams seemed to imply that she wanted to finish the job. Or much, much worse.

She procrastinated on the issue for more than a week.

Bringing the child along might improve her chances of living, but she didn’t want to bet on it. If the kid saw something awful because she dragged her there, she would never forgive herself. And anyway, delivering Avli to such an unpredictable deity would be a horrible idea. Reckless, even for Rosa.

So, she would go alone. She didn’t even tell anyone where she was going or why. She simply made certain the girl was occupied with Cas. They were playing checkers and watching cartoons. Avli would be way safer in the house than in a confrontation with Yemaya. Satisfied that she wouldn’t be in immediate danger, Rosa took off for Nigeria.

She made no attempt at a summoning ritual this time. Her only compromise was to dress in white and beaded jewelry, to look like a person devoted to the goddess. In that way, she could certainly pretend. Her terrifying dreams gave her plenty of inspiration. If Yemaya wanted submission, Rosa would feign it. If she wanted humility, she could do that, too. The witch planned to fake it, but she didn’t trust herself not to really mean it. The energy sat in her belly like a cancer, and it still had power over her. She feared it could make her do whatever it wanted. Especially in the presence of its owner.

With a sigh, she swatted away the mosquitos and other flying insects before walking slowly into the river. She felt the cool water on her skin. Her heart raced, and her head pounded. She went as deep as she could without being swept away.

“I’m here to return what’s yours,” Rosa said carefully. She meant the energy, but she understood that Yemaya might think _she_ was being returned. As spiritual property.

Phrasing it like that made her wince.

“Yemaya? I’m here! The child is safe, and the Other is destroyed!” Her shouting annoyed a long-legged bird enough to leave the scene for a quieter location.

She felt a pull on her borrowed power—toward the shore, where the goddess appeared during their first encounter. Rosa turned. This time, a different woman stood before her. The facial features were somewhat similar, but the hair fell around her shoulders in loose curls and her skin reminded the witch of the ocean at night. She didn’t wear white like before, but a dark blue. No doll. The mannerisms were identical, however, and she _felt_ like Yemaya.

“It went well?” asked a voice far kinder than she remembered.

Rosa nodded dramatically. “Sam’s safe, too. Nobody on our side got hurt. And we ended up healing fifty other kids along the way. A lot of mothers are gonna sleep better tonight.” God, she felt so nervous. She thought she might be speaking too fast. Was she speaking too fast?

“Tell me, did you need the power I gave you?”

Another nod. “I used it to destroy the Other. I wouldn’t have been strong enough to do it on my own. Not even close.”

“Are you thankful?”

“Yes.” This was the truth. “Absolutely. My friends are alive because of your help. I’m forever grateful.”

Yemaya smiled. “Drink from my river.”

It looked dirty as all hell, perpetually brown in color, but Rosa was in no position to argue. She cupped some of the stuff in her hands, quickly made certain there weren’t any bugs in it, and drank it as fast as she could. Once the cool liquid reached her stomach, the uncomfortable energy there began to leave her body. It flowed outward through her skin and into the water. And then it was just gone.

She felt immediate relief. And more importantly, she felt like herself again.

But her situation still wasn’t resolved. When Yemaya spoke again, she tried not to look anxious. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Good!” Yemaya motioned toward the sky. “Your contract is absolved. You may go back to your life.”

Rosa couldn’t believe her ears. “What?”

“You can go now.”

Despite herself, she didn’t immediately leave. “Hold on. What was all that stuff about me belonging to you and pledging to you and all that? You made it seem like—I’ve had nightmares about this.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to say it. She’d been given the all-clear. She could just go.

Yemaya actually looked sympathetic. “During the contract, you did belong to me, in a sense. Your life belonged to me. Now, I release you. Any nightmares were not my doing, however. You took on energy you could not easily bear. I am sure it played a role. Your pain and difficulties are unfortunate, but you invited them.”

“None of it was true?”

She laughed. “I don’t know what occurred, but I assure you, I did not contribute.” After a moment, “You may not be human, but you are still a woman. Women enjoy my protection.” With that, she was gone.

Rosa took a minute to sob without anyone there to watch. She was so convinced of the worst. She never even considered that she’d come out on top in this one. She genuinely thought this was her last gamble, and that her fate could be far worse than just dying.

It was a close call. Too close.

She eventually waded out of the muddy river water and onto land. Moments later, she flew back—specifically to the upstairs bathroom, where a change of dry clothes awaited. Thankfully, it wasn’t occupied, or else she would’ve had to explain the second meeting. She didn’t have the emotional energy for it.

When she rejoined the living, they had no idea she even left.

***

Cas accidentally walked in on the second anti-anxiety session. It wasn’t going well. Unlike the depression, Sam couldn’t seem to get a hold on where exactly Dean’s anxiety came from or why it persisted without any discernable cause. As far as he could tell, his body just expected to be anxious. It only knew perpetual nervousness. And he didn’t know how to fix that. He made a little progress with more brain chemistry adjusting, but beyond that? The last session barely changed anything, and it looked like this one would be the same.

The angel sat down on their room’s sofa and waited until they were finished. Sam spent a significant amount of time trying to console Dean, telling him that they would find a way to fix it. After all, the depression was nearly gone, and he didn’t jump quite as often at loud noises. There had to be a way to treat this, too.

When Dean seemed to calm down, Cas spoke up. “I think I know why Avli’s the way she is,” he proclaimed.

Happy for a change in subject matter, “Oh yeah?” asked the patient.

He nodded. “I think she’s a reincarnation—or, uh, several reincarnations. She’s still a kid. She thinks like a kid, because she is one right now. But she _knows_ things she shouldn’t. She’s had possibly hundreds of years to collect information from Earth, and somehow she gets to keep most of it when she moves on to the next life. I think maybe her and our planet have been friends for a lot longer than would be possible in this lifetime.”

“Wait, hold on, I thought everyone who died either went upstairs or down,” Dean interjected.

Cas shook his head. “Souls governed by the Abrahamic God do. But there are plenty more gods out there, many of whom get a cut. Avli is Hindu. She only goes to a place like the Kingdom after a much longer time here. Many lives. Some, possibly not even as a human. And from what I understand, Earth prefers people who are here as long as possible, so it makes sense that she would befriend an old soul.”

Sam turned to face him and tilted his head slightly. “That’s really interesting. So, you think she remembers her past lives?”

“It’s not supposed to happen, not really, but it’s possible. Or maybe she just remembers what Earth told her or that they’re friends. Maybe that special bond helps her remember.” He shrugged. “I’m not really an expert on this, though.”

The healer left their bed and went over to Cas. He bent down, kissing him. “I think she adores you.”

“She’s a wonderful little girl, even without the extra knowledge.” Avli knew, on some level, that her mother was dead, and yet she seemed to handle it well. She adapted to her new situation with ease. And she had this peacefulness about her that most humans couldn’t accomplish.

Dean blinked in their general direction. “You wanna be her father.” Not a question. “Cas, we can’t—”

“Why the hell not?” he returned a little too forcefully. Dialing it back, “I know it’d be weird to just adopt a kid.” Mainly because of the Winchesters’ unique situation and the fact that it was a three-person relationship. “But this girl already knows everything about us. She knows who we are and what we are to each other, and she doesn’t care.”

“I don’t think it’ll work out, dude.”

Cas shook his head. “Avli doesn’t have anyone. Bobby and Ellen are too old to chase after a seven-year-old. And if Frank could do it, he would probably be with his own kid. So, Rosa’s the only other candidate. Do you really think she’s up to the task? Because _she_ doesn’t think so!” He gripped the edge of the couch, next to his knees, and made no attempt to hide his frustration. During his “punishment” on Earth, he wanted to be a parent. He planned to be one, eventually. He loved kids. And he knew he could do a better job than his human parents.

As life progressed, it became a less and less realistic goal. He took on a somewhat comparable role with his nieces, but that wasn’t the same thing. He really, genuinely believed he could be a fantastic father if given the chance. Nurturing and caring for others were his favorite pastimes. Cas was more than willing to devote a significant amount of his life to the protection and enrichment of a child.

And he needed them to know that.

“A long time ago, you asked me what I wanted in life. I said I wanted to go to school. But I think you know that was a compromise. For _us_.”

Dean didn’t back down, though he wasn’t going to beat Cas up over this. “We all made compromises.”

“Actually,” Sam intervened, “I didn’t. I have everything I want. And I did for pretty much the entire time we were in Philadelphia. Not gonna lie, I think you both deserve the same, if at all possible.” He offered the angel his hand. No reason for the physical distance between the three of them, even when arguing. “Dean, you didn’t even really want to be a hunter. You thought you _had to be one_. We didn’t know it at the time, but we do now. Do you really still feel that way?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No.”

Dean never really enjoyed it, at least not deeply. Being a hunter was forced on him. It was required. He clung to it for so long because he didn’t know who he would be without it. But he knew now. He could be defined by love and caring and all sorts of things he wasn’t even allowed to show openly for most of his early life. And even before the treatments started, he found a new passion of inventing things. He enjoyed that, and he did a pretty damn good job, too.

The two of them joined Dean on the bed. “Then the only person who’s really compromising is Cas,” Sam pointed out. “You didn’t actually get to finish school either.” He couldn’t help but get a little emotional. “I love you, and I think you deserve to have what makes you happy. So, uh, maybe we could give it a shot.” He didn’t like the idea of bringing a child into their circle, but it wasn’t just about him.

Cas looked like he could start crying at any moment. The older Winchester couldn’t see that and still continue the argument. Just the thought of trying to raise a kid made Cas inescapably happy. Instead, Dean switched to the specifics. “How much do you want us to—you know— _help_?”

The angel looked down at his hands. “As much as you feel like.”

Ideally, his companions would be equal components in parenting, but he understood that it wasn’t a popular subject. Dean barely even interacted with Avli. Sam liked helping kids, but he never saw himself as a potential parent to one. This life goal was Cas’s alone.

“No, I mean, perfect world: what would you want?”

“I’d want you to help,” Cas admitted. “We do everything together. Both of you would be great parents, in different ways. But I don’t wanna _make_ you do it. The whole thing wouldn’t work if I did that.” And kids could sense when the people caring for them didn’t really want to do it, which would be devastating to any child.

Sam put his arm around him and kissed just beneath his ear. “I think we can do it.”

“This is your gig,” Dean added. “Man, I dunno how much I can help without my head screwed on right, but I can try. It’s probably gonna have to be simple shit, at least for now. Some days, I can’t do much for myself.” It wasn’t easy to admit. Even with the depression more or less managed, the anxiety could be paralyzing, and he still had trouble with loud noises. On top of it all, he routinely felt exhausted or drugged from the pills.

Cas smiled a little. “Simple shit works. Avli just needs people to watch over her and interact with her. You know, talk. Maybe play a game or watch TV. She’s pretty quiet. She likes Looney Tunes.”

Kissing him again, Sam pulled him close. “She’s really into nature, too, right? Maybe when it warms up outside, we can go for walks or something. Collect leaves and flowers. Stuff like that.” He wasn’t sure sports would be the kid’s thing, since she was so tiny, but forest trails and parks were different.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Dean asked in an unsteady voice.

Sam nodded. “Together.”

***

They spent the winter wrapped in a calmness most of them hadn’t seen since before the trio died. Frank bid his farewell, saying that he planned to reconnect with his daughter. He genuinely wanted to retire, as hunting without also being a police officer didn’t quite have the appeal it once did. Bobby helped him get a shiny new identity, complete with credit cards, ID, and a passport, just in case. He was still wanted in connection to the weird events at the station, so he would have to be careful.

The others were invited to stay as long as they wanted, especially the three and their new charge. Rosa stayed, too, under the premise that she wanted to make certain no one else would be going after Avli.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the little girl stole everyone’s hearts. Even Dean, who sometimes read to her at night and helped build a slightly lopsided snowman.

They had a very lowkey Christmas, in which small gifts were exchanged, with many given to Avli. It was Sam’s favorite holiday, so they celebrated primarily for him, and had a big dinner as part of it. The girl enjoyed the festivities, though she didn’t quite understand them. She especially liked the fake tree and all the shiny ornaments.

Through it all, Cas remained the primary caregiver, ensuring she had everything she needed and then some. He got her some cold weather gear so she could play outside. He made certain she had enough to eat—even going so far as to try and learn a few Bengali dishes—and he helped her pick things for her room that matched her personality. Toys, a bed spread, curtains, etc. He thought she deserved to have a kids’ room. The angel also developed a special rule. Both of them could have a ton of sugar now and then, but they had to brush their teeth really good afterwards. And floss. Avli found the deal perfectly acceptable.

The healer was a little unsure of his role at first. He saw Cas doing a fantastic job, and he didn’t want to ruin it. But Avli made sure to include him in games and conversations as often as she could. She seemed to think he was shy and needed help making friends. He did eventually join in. Some of the dusty board games Bobby had were better played with multiple people, so he obliged. She scraped her knee on the porch, and he healed it before she could even cry. Later, he took her to a few museums in the city.

Rosa didn’t directly involve herself unless she was forced to, except for a handful of attempts at learning some of Earth’s secrets. Avli answered her questions to the best of her ability, but she didn’t always understand what was being asked. She said she would talk to Earth about it when they spoke next. But it probably wouldn’t be until Spring. The girl implied that when it was cold, the planet hibernated.

So, Rosa found other things to keep herself busy. She started a new line of research—trying to learn more about gods as strong as Yemaya—and expanded her knowledge of spells. She also watched with curiosity as the others adjusted to peacetime with a child present.

Everyone tried to avoid cursing around her. Only Cas really succeeded, as he usually only did it when extremely upset. Rosa attempted to avoid it, because she didn’t want the kid to feel intimidated. That wouldn’t help her prospects in learning more about the world. Mothering the child wasn’t necessary, but she did have to seem friendly, at least.

Admittedly, it was a cause of concern that childcare duties fell on the shoulders of a three-person, partially incestuous, all-male couple. What did they know about raising a little girl? And should a child even be exposed to them, no matter how mild the interactions witnessed?

It’d taken Rosa a very long time to accept that her friends weren’t demented perverts, but in any other situation—for instance, two related individuals who didn’t share a soulmate bond—she would probably still be disgusted. Most cases of incest were, at best, misguided and wrong, and at worst, rape. It took getting to know Sam and Dean to understand that they were an exception. Other forces played a significant role in them being together.

Still, could they really expect a child to grow up in that environment? In terms of explaining her family situation to others? Of course, the Winchesters could simply pull the same thing they did in Philly—change their last names and pretend they weren’t brothers. But that wouldn’t explain why there were three of them, and any idiot could tell that all involved were very much in love with each other.

Rosa tried to imagine the PTA meetings. Teacher conferences. Play dates.

Obviously, it seemed like Cas wanted to take the lead on all of it, which helped. Each member of the trio seemed to be a good person at heart, but her mentor was more than that. He routinely sacrificed himself or his happiness or whatever to help others. Hell, just to make them happy. The witch wasn’t an expert at child-rearing, far from it. She did think, however, that selflessness was a good trait for a parent to have. In that case, the Winchesters also carried an abundance. Putting others before themselves was their favorite hobby.

But she still had concerns. Dean didn’t have a good hold on his mental health—at all. His mood swings weren’t violent or even filled with anger, thankfully. But he’d be stable one minute and a complete mess the next. Should a kid have to deal with that? And what if Dean was the only one around? He couldn’t reliably watch Avli and endure a panic attack at the same time. Moreover, Xanax often made him pass out, whether he wanted to or not. Falling asleep while alone with a girl that young could prove dangerous for her. And nevermind the fact that mental illness itself often frightened people who didn’t understand it.

Dean proved the least interested in their arrangement, probably for these reasons. He had enough on his mind without taking on the responsibility of raising someone. And if he managed to do it anyway, Avli could easily trigger his disease if, for example, she got into danger or someone yelled at her. He didn’t know what he would do in a scenario like that, and it scared him.

On the other hand, Sam had the needed patience and emotional traits to more than make up for any difficulties his soulmate faced. He never thought he’d be a parent, never thought he even wanted to be one. But Cas did, and they couldn’t have found a more delightful child. Sweet and curious and polite. And perhaps most importantly, knowledgeable about her potential new guardians’ lifestyle. They weren’t sure how much she understood, as she was only seven, but she routinely used the word “husband,” to refer to each of their relationships with each other. Either Earth called them that—the implications of which were mind-boggling—or she surmised it based on information Earth provided.

Nevertheless, she already knew what would be fairly difficult to explain. She seemed to get that Dean and Sam were related, and this fact didn’t bother her in the slightest. Maybe she had no frame of reference to be disturbed by it, or maybe it just didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. After all, if Cas was right, she was a reincarnated soul. Her view of the world differed as a result. If two linked souls could be placed into any bodies a god or force chose, then who could blame them for loving one another? They were designed that way, and they consented.

If any child could thrive with the three, it would be this one, Rosa thought. And Avli certainly couldn’t do even half as well with the witch, who barely tolerated making food or tea for others. The things that drove her to protect others were often rooted in some kind of selfishness. She liked winning. She liked people seeing her win. She wanted to be revered.

It wasn’t how a child should be treated. That much, she understood. Children deserved to be the center of their parents’ universe, especially so young. If nothing else, Cas was prepared for that, and his lovers would do their best. Who was she to judge them?

Their world didn’t function like that of normal people. A strange kid might belong in a strange family.

Rosa heard whispers now and then of the trio and Avli leaving Bobby’s house for some place more private. They wanted to restart their lives, perhaps open shop for healing like they did before, or just enjoy being alive. Nothing concrete yet, but she could see their restlessness. Which meant she had to make a decision. Try and invite herself back—after all, they once lived together without many problems—or return to her own life. If she chose the latter, she would have limited time to receive answers to her questions for Earth.


	35. Further On (Up the Road)

Just over three months after Avli entered their lives, the trio couldn’t imagine giving her up to anyone else. Even Dean adored her, despite not feeling up to the task. She was always happy, always optimistic and inquisitive. The amount she seemed like a standard child surprised everyone. Since the extra information only came out occasionally, in little matter-of-fact statements, they sometimes forgot she wasn’t a normal kid.

He read to her near-nightly now, everything from classic literature to adventure stories to mythology. She picked the book from Bobby’s library, he decided what to read inside. It was an easy thing he could handle. Slowly, he took on a few more responsibilities and interacted with her more. Dean did _technically_ have experience raising a child. He was a kid as well when it happened, but still. In a way, he had more experience than Cas did, having just been a babysitter. But he didn’t trust his own judgement, since he had only his father’s shitty approach to use as a guide. As such, he (and Sam) let Cas decide most major things.

But he couldn’t deny that, with each passing day, his role in Avli’s life grew. One day in December, she approached him while he was wrapped around a book in the main room. “Mr. Dean?”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Hey, Avli. What’s up?”

She held out a fluffy hair tie that featured elephants on a blue background. Though her hair didn’t even reach her shoulders, she strongly preferred tying it back. But she wasn’t very good at it. By the state of her hair—messy once again—she’d tried and failed several times before coming to Dean. “I can’t get it,” she said with a frown. “Can you fix it for me?”

He looked around, but there wasn’t anyone else in the room, and he knew Cas was out grocery shopping. Sam napped upstairs, having spent the morning trying to fix the part of Dean’s brain that managed fear. So far, he was unsuccessful, but the attempt exhausted him, nonetheless. Ellen probably could have done the job, too, but calling for her seemed cowardly. Avli asked _him_ , so he would deliver. He took the springy fabric and motioned for her to turn around.

Dean’s experience with hair usually involved an electric razor and the somewhat daily task of shaving his face. He typically found a cheap barber wherever they were. And he most certainly never dealt with long hair. When Sam grew his out, he was more than old enough to take care of it himself.

But it wasn’t like memorizing three pages worth of Latin. All he had to do was gather her hair up and secure it with the tie. Easy, right?

It took him six attempts.

Avli waited patiently as he did it, and in the end, it looked okay. Not lopsided or falling out. But his subject would have to be the judge. “Good?” Dean asked. He really didn’t know what he was doing. Part of him feared he tied it too tightly, hurting her in the process.

She tugged on the ponytail for good measure and nodded. Pleased, she moved to the side of his chair and hugged him. “Thanks.”

Before he could say anything further, she took off for the back room to watch TV.

***

On the first warmish day in March, Rosa took Avli for a walk. She did an internet search and found a place called Good Earth State Park, not far from the city. It had trees and trails and everything one might expect, plus the name was too significant to pass up. Cas insisted on going as well, saying he needed the exercise. But both of the adults knew it was because he didn’t want Rosa asking any questions that might frighten the girl. He would put a stop to it if she did.

So, the witch had to be on her best behavior. And she needed to be patient, too, since Avli really enjoyed nature, and she wasn’t in a hurry. “My ma used to bring me to a forest like this,” she said after about twenty minutes of walking. “But it was close to the ocean.”

“We can go to a place like that, too, sometime soon,” Cas replied. They were thinking about heading for a coastal city. And then maybe they could find a house, like the one in Philly. They would start again, with a little one. A reasonably safe neighborhood with a good school district, he thought.

“I’d like that.”

Rosa mostly stayed silent during the first part of the walk, except to remark that there would be flowers here soon if she wanted to come back. She could see hints of green along the path that indicated early Spring blooms. She might not be a nature expert, but as a witch, she knew a great deal more than the average person.

Eventually, they found a clearing with a shallow marsh at the far end. The had to walk on a wooden platform to cross it, but when they got to the other side, Avli made a happy “Oh!” and sat down on the ground.

She was silent for a long time, but her expression and occasional nodding told her walking companions that she was listening. Eventually, “Earth says hi.”

Rosa bent down and put her hand on the path. “Is it okay if I ask her a few questions?”

A big nod, followed by a smile. “She says you earned it.”

“Is there a way for me to learn to heal myself and others?”

“Yes.”

“Without hurting an angel?”

She smiled bigger. “Yes.”

Practically shaking, Rosa had to force the question out. “What is it?”

There was a pause as Avli listened to what appeared to be a long response. “She says there are a lot of ways. Some gods can give it to you. Wind gods. But there aren’t many of those left. She hasn’t talked to one in a long time.” The girl took a breath. “You could use the pools if you’re close to one.”

“Energy pools?”

Another nod. “She says you’re strong enough to know where they are if you look.”

Rosa breathed out in relief. So, the stories were true. There really where places on earth where energy naturally collected. “If I tap into one, I can use it to heal me?”

“Kinda. It helps you. You can use it for other stuff. Spelling.” They knew she meant spellcasting but didn’t feel the need to correct her. “But if you’re hurt, it helps.” She patted Rosa’s knee. “They’re presents from Earth, to help good people.”

She didn’t dare ask if Earth thought she was a good person. Instead, “Are there any other ways?”

“For you there is. You can ask your baba.”

“Baba?” What the hell was a ‘baba’?

But Cas knew enough Bangla to understand, and the word wasn’t terribly different from those in other languages. “Your father,” he answered for her. “You could ask Gabriel to give you healing power.” And probably the other missing abilities as well, he surmised.

Avli’s nose wrinkled at the name. “Earth doesn’t like him very much. But she says he can make you more like him if you want.”

Rosa’s world shattered. She didn’t want to talk to that bastard. She hated him. He essentially killed her mother, leaving Rosa without parents and putting the job on her overburdened grandmother. She was certain she could probably contact him if she spent enough time researching it, but did she actually want to? Not really. Fuck that guy. He never helped her with a damn thing, despite being one of the most powerful creatures in existence. An unpredictable voodoo goddess was kinder.

It sounded like the wind god thing probably wouldn’t pan out, either. If they still existed, why would Earth not have heard from them? Maybe they died out like the Living Tree’s species was. Maybe they never found Earth’s pen pal to tell them how to survive.

The pools, however, sounded promising. It would chain her to them, but if there were many, she could strategically do things without fear of being mortally wounded. And if she could use the power in spells, that could give her a fantastic advantage, not unlike the one Yemaya provided.

“That’s okay. I don’t like him very much, either.” After a moment to compose herself, “Do other gods worship Earth? Is she a god to them?”

“She’s their nani.”

Rosa looked to Cas for translation, and he simply said “Grandmother.”

“Very old and wise. They love her, like you love your nani, Miss Rosa.” Abruptly, Avli stood up and brushed herself off. “Earth is sleepy here. She says the air’s warm but she’s still cold.”

“If we built a fire, would that help?”

Avli’s eyes opened wide, and she shook her head quickly. “No, that would hurt her. We don’t wanna hurt her. We can’t!”

Cas hugged the girl in support. “Don’t worry. We won’t. We’ll just come back later if we have more questions, okay? Can you thank Earth for us? We’re very grateful for her time, and we hope she has a good rest.”

Calmer, she looked downward and waved. “Thank you, Earth!”

Rosa glared at the angel but said nothing. She wanted desperately to ask more questions as soon as possible, and she didn’t appreciate being cut off. But she knew he had the child’s best interests in mind, and she couldn’t argue with that.

Conversation over, the three hikers looped back toward the van—Cas insisted on driving—and headed home.

***

Sam didn’t understand. How the hell he could get mail at Bobby’s house since he never got ID’d by the news and there hadn’t been a new story about his healing streak in weeks. But there it was. A letter with “Sam Winchester” written big in the middle in cursive, followed by their location. No return address listed.

Rightfully so, it unnerved everyone.

He sat at the kitchen table and stared for a long time before moving to open it.

Inside, there was an elegantly written letter in the same handwriting. Whoever wrote it took a long time making sure it looked clean and professional. Gulping, he began reading it out loud. “ _Dear Samuel_ —”

“Samuel?!” Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Though it was technically his brother’s name, no one—not even their father—called him that. He couldn’t remember a single instance, even in anger. Their grandfather was Samuel. _He_ was Sam. Or in times of struggle and deep intimacy with Dean: Sammy.

Shooting him a look of annoyance, Sam cleared his throat and continued. “ _I am writing to you on behalf of a group of like-minded individuals who have noticed your endeavors in the field of human tissue regeneration. We are impressed with your techniques, and we are pleased to hear of your return after an extended absence. We hope you are feeling well. This letter outlines a proposal that may be of interest to you._ ”

“Okay, hold on,” Dean interjected again. “Why are we getting letters from the freakin’ Illuminati?”

Bobby snorted. “And how the hell do they know who you are?”

Sam tried not to think about it just yet. He shrugged. Going on, “ _We are a collective of special clergy within the Catholic faith. Our chapter is located in the greater Seattle area, but our organization is a centuries-old global initiative dedicated to maintaining the safety of mankind. It appears that our goals are aligned. We would like to invite you and your associates to our parish, so that we may discuss an partnership. If you are interested, your presence here would be greatly appreciated. I have listed the main Archdiocese address below. Arrive at your leisure, and we look forward to meeting you in person.”_

Before anyone could comment on how ludicrous the proposition was, Cas spoke up. “Who sent it?”

His eyes drifted over the address to the end. “ _Emmanuel L. Walsh, Archbishop of Seattle.”_

“Shit.” When everyone turned to look at Cas, he explained: “I saw this guy on the news. They had priests on to say whether they thought you were an angel or not.”

Sam put the letter down before walking over to Cas. “What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t think you were an angel, but that you were doing their work—like he recognized that it was what angels can do.” He gulped. “It seemed like he knew more than he let on.”

Bobby scoffed. “You didn’t think you should mention this, boy?”

He took a step closer to Sam. “I spent days following the news. I took enough notes to fill up half a book. And I told you guys to look through it. Yeah, he stood out, but there were tons of people who decided Sam was either an angel or working with them. I wrote it all down.” He turned and pointed at the letter. “I circled this guy.”

Sam put his arm around the angel and pressed his nose against his cheek. “It’s okay, Cas.” Addressing the others, “What would have changed if we knew, anyway? We were a little busy. But we know now.”

A few steps away, Dean felt comforted by seeing Sam defend Cas so quickly. It happened more times than he could count in different situations, and he’d done the same for each of them (and Sam for him), but it always felt good to see it in action. “This is crazy, dude. What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?”

His brother shrugged. Without letting go of Cas, “I don’t think we can ignore it. They know where we are. They know who I am.” He looked down at the floor for a moment. “We have to leave, either way. We can go somewhere else, try and lay low with fake IDs, or—or we could show up and see what they want. If they really are priests who know things hunters know, they could be pretty valuable allies.”

“How the hell did they even figure out who you are, let alone that you’re here?” Bobby spoke as much to himself as to the others.

“Maybe one of them was a former patient,” Ellen provided from across the room.

But Rosa shook her head. “Then they would have invited him over sooner, don’t you think? Why would they wait until he made the news?”

“It could be because I died,” Sam pointed out.

“Could be.” She breathed out. “Or maybe word got around about our, uh, holy water incident. After all, we did use an archbishop then, too.”

Dean wasn’t so sure. “I think that guy would’ve mentioned that he was part of some Knights Templar bullshit. We just bribed him, and he did what we asked. And he was fucking terrified afterwards. I don’t think he would’ve told anyone.”

“Yeah, but there were a _lot_ of other priests there. If just one of them knew this group or belonged to it, that might be how they learned about you. Hell, maybe they just gossiped with the wrong person. We used mostly Catholics. Is it really that surprising that that’s who’s contacting us now?” She paced over and picked up the letter. “If all they had was a rumor, seeing you in action might be the reason to make contact.”

“But we can’t trust them,” Bobby insisted.

Sam moved away from Cas and dropped into a chair. “If they really are priests, I don’t see why not.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, I think there’s a few hundred altar boys who would disagree with you, Sammy.” While his soulmate’s faith was usually just something he did—a prayer now and then, a little optimism—it occasionally made him naïve. They’d met angels. Thoroughly. But they’d never met God. And even if they had, churches were run by people. Because of that, they were afflicted with every kind of evil humans possessed.

Of course, Sam didn’t see it that way. “Dean!” he protested.

“What? It’s true. If these fuckers can do shit like that, why the hell should we think they could only have good intentions? Look, I know how you feel about the whole religion thing, but being suspicious of these guys isn’t gonna hurt that. We have to assume that anyone who wants to talk to you about healing could be bad news. Same with the parents on TV. Some were legit, and some definitely weren’t.”

Cas nodded, reluctantly. “We should do some research on this guy. See if we can figure out who he is and what group he’s even referring to.”

“Quickly, though,” Sam warned. He looked crushed, but he knew his companions could be right. “If they’re bad people, they know where we are. We can’t stay here. And Bobby, you and Ellen are in danger, too.”

“Let’s hope it don’t come to that,” the old man tried to sound reassuring.

“Yeah.”

“Are we going somewhere?” came a little voice from the hallway.

Cas turned on a dime and scooped her up in his arms. “Not yet, sweetheart. We’re just talking. But maybe we can go see those trees by the ocean soon.” Moments later, he disappeared with the girl, happy to leave the conversation. He enjoyed feeling like they weren’t in danger. Having that experience return didn’t exactly thrill him. Especially not now that they had a youngster to take care of. If they were in trouble, so was she.

The others eventually dispersed, moving on to daily tasks or research. Sam lingered, staring at the letter. He really wanted to know more.


	36. Over the Hills and Far Away

Across the three days it took to make their decision, Sam split his time between research and continuing his treatments for Dean. Every few weeks, the depression started to creep back, so he had to fix it again. Like a booster shot. And while he managed to dampen the anxiety a little, it never quite got to a level where it wouldn’t bother him. He made some headway on the fear response to loud noises, but otherwise, they were stuck.

Dean wasn’t getting any better. Sam would never admit defeat, but his brother was already there. In their last session, he prevented a second try, claiming he felt too tired to continue. But both of them knew. They couldn’t really keep secrets from each other. Dean didn’t think he would recover fully, and he hated seeing Sam exhaust himself with no positive result.

When the healer went to try again on the third day since the letter arrived, his patient flat out refused the treatment.

“I don’t wanna do this right now,” he said in the quiet of their room. “Can we just—be together? For a little while?” His voice sounded so vulnerable, out of character even for these sessions. At least he pretended to be hopeful before.

He wasn’t particularly devastated about the revelation—that he might have to deal with PTSD for as long as they were alive. Taking away the depression prevented that, to an extent. But he did seem wounded by it. Like he believed if anyone could save him it would be his soulmate, and now that Sam couldn’t, who would? Dean’s mental and physical response to it all was a poor attempt at numbing himself. A sort of self-sedation. He couldn’t fix the problem, so he tried to distance himself from it.

And at the moment, he strongly preferred something physical to going another round with Sam’s healing power. He needed that more.

“What do you want to do?”

Dean smiled a little and kissed him deeply. Sam got the hint.

***

When they emerged an hour or so later, Dean had a slight limp (which the healer quickly corrected before anyone could notice). It wasn’t unusual for his soulmate to want things slightly rougher than usual when he was upset. Most often, he moved slow with Sam and took his time. Every place their skin touched was important. Every second spent together deserved celebration and acknowledgement. But sometimes he needed extra attention.

He needed to relinquish control of his life for a few glorious minutes.

The slight damage to his person had more to do with the suddenness of their engagement than how forceful Sam was. He never properly relaxed. But he couldn’t care less. A little pain didn’t feel so bad, and then it was gone quicker than it arrived.

Unfortunately, neither of them could bask in the glow for long. They were five minutes late for a meeting, in which the trio would deliver their plan for dealing with the mysterious archbishop.

Over the past three days, the group dug into the man’s history. They checked in on everything from family members to his specific diocese. Who was he? Who worked for him? What went on in his churches? Did he have any known hunters in his family? They asked the questions, and the internet delivered them.

The guy didn’t seem to have any living family, but he did have some interesting lineage. At least three generations back, someone related to him achieved archbishop or cardinal status—not an easy feat. More uncles and great uncles did well, too, and there were a ton of clergy and nuns throughout, to the point that it was a miracle anyone had children at all. None appeared to be hunters, as revealed by a few calls from Bobby. No one he spoke to recognized any of the names he listed.

As was typical of his position, Emmanuel had a veritable army of people working for him in one capacity or another. Priests, clerks, accountants, paid staff, volunteers, etc. Any names they found, they checked, but everyone was fairly clean and respectable. A few parking tickets. A couple dozen undocumented workers. Some very minor criminal records for things like drinking and drugs. No red flags.

As for the diocese itself, nothing stuck out as being odd or different from any other large network of Catholic churches. If anything, the lack of noticeable internal conflict was interesting. Everyone involved seemed a little too calm, and when their archbishop had a plan, it got done.

Based on this information, the three decided that it was in everyone’s best interest for them to leave for Seattle. They would bring Avli, of course, but Cas and the girl would stay as far away from the secretive organization as possible, at least until Sam and Dean gave the all-clear. The two would meet the Archbishop together—fully armed—and if anything went bad, Dean would fly them out of there.

Sam assured them all that he felt confident they would be fine. He had a good feeling about it.

Rosa, on the other hand, thought it was almost as dangerous as going to see Yemaya. And speaking of which, she’d made a promise. The deal may have been over, but she still felt protective of their healer. And of course, her mentor, the little girl, and even Dean. “I’m going with you,” she said simply, bluntly.

The older Winchester spun on his heel. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. Try and stop me. I protected Sam once, and I fully intend on doing it again. If you don’t get in trouble, fine. I’ll have a brief chat with the Archbishop and be on my way. If you do, then you’ll know why you needed me.” She set her sword on a nearby stack of books for effect. The research room was a better location for meetings than the kitchen. She sat with her legs crossed at the ankles and her feet resting on a coffee table. Her overly relaxed posture was done intentionally. They had to know that the matter wasn’t up for debate.

Dean groaned. His relationship with her had soured significantly thanks to her stunt with the water goddess. He didn’t hate her, but she annoyed the hell out of him again. Sure, he appreciated what she ended up contributing. He wanted his soulmate alive and safe. No question about that. But her approach was brash, egotistical, and abrasive.

And he knew he couldn’t stop her from doing anything, unless he tried to kill her, which was a little extreme.

“He might expect me, anyway,” she continued. “After all, the videos have me on them, too. They might be suspicious if I don’t show up, and Sam’s dead brother does.”

Dean forced a shrug. “I’m still going, too.” He felt confident enough that he wouldn’t completely lose his shit if things got bad. He would take half of a Xanax right before, just in case. By now, he had enough tolerance to the meds that it wouldn’t put him out or significantly dampen his judgement. And nothing would prevent him from being by Sammy’s side on this one.

“Suit yourself. I’m not running the show. He is.” She pointed at Sam. “If he wants you there, you’re there.”

Sam didn’t like the exchange at all. If Cas had been here, instead of making sure Avli didn’t hear their conversation, he would’ve chastised the witch. But no one really had any power over her. Still, “Of course I want him there.” To an extent, he didn’t—for Dean’s safety—but he also felt more secure with him by his side, and regardless of potential danger, he had no reason to believe they weren’t simply meeting with human beings. “We’re gonna drive. You can meet us there in a few days.”

Dean loved the mountains, so Sam would make sure he saw them in person again. And Avli might get a kick out of it, too. After all, mountains were a place where the Earth stretched up higher, allowing the planet to tower over everything on it.

Bobby straightened his back. “If it don’t work out, no matter the reason, you all are welcome back here. Any time.” He didn’t specify whether or not Rosa was included in that proclamation. Each of the others could only guess if his offer extended to her. “You’re sure about doin’ this?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“All right then. We’ll have you out of here first thing in the morning.”

Complete with a new set of fake IDs, credit cards, etc. As always, they kept their first names—save for _Lucas_ —and received different surnames. They used magazine titles this time. Sam Moore ( _More_ ). Dean Harper ( _Harper’s Magazine_ , a scientific publication). And Cas Stone ( _Rolling Stone_ ). Avli took the angel’s new last name, as she most clearly looked to him as a parental figure. Bobby made sure proper adoption paperwork not only existed but would survive the strongest of scrutiny. The girl was legally Cas’s daughter.

They didn’t have many belongings, but all would be packed quickly. Clothes, weapons, kids’ toys. And they would take not the Trans Am but the black Corvette Stingray Bobby was hoping to sell before the boys came back. He finally got it working once the warm weather set in, and it had been spared of bullet holes (except one to the bumper, which he replaced). Most importantly, it could fit three adults and a child more comfortably, and in general it was a nicer car. “It’s not an Impala,” he said when they agreed on it yesterday afternoon. “But it’s yours.”

He made sure the plates were registered to Dean’s new identity. Everything had to look legitimate and pass inspection. The group would seem a little weird if they got stopped. Their documentation had to take the heat off of them. To accomplish it quickly, Bobby called in half a dozen favors.

Ellen stocked them up with snacks and basic toiletries for the trip. It pained her to watch them go, especially the little one. She never knew if it would be the last time she’d see them again.

The next morning, they got an early start, with a sleepy Avli wrapped up in a blanket decorated with giraffes. But Cas made sure she ate breakfast and brushed her teeth. He combed her hair. He helped her pack up her stuff. He radiated patience and caring. Throughout, he made certain to refer to the trip as an adventure. And he said that there were so many parks near Seattle they could visit. He couldn’t wait to take her to them.

Dean committed to driving. He wanted to see what this machine could do—within reason given that a child and the loves of his life would be riding with them. Still, he revved the engine when he got in and laughed. This was gonna be fun.

Once the vehicle had been loaded to the brim and everyone said their goodbyes, the four of them took off for Washington.

It was Interstate 90 the whole way, and if they didn’t stop, they could be there by tomorrow. But no one was in a hurry. After five hours of driving—with a few breaks—they stopped in Rapid City. Though Avli slept for periods of the trip, she still seemed worn out by it. So, they found a decent hotel suite and checked in. They had dinner at a local “family” restaurant, which according to the girl had a very good grilled cheese. Dean thought the French fries weren’t bad, and it was nice to have a beer for once, since they were no longer living in a dry house.

Sleeping arrangements were a little strange, given the close quarters. There were two small beds and a couch in an adjoining room. Dean and Cas shared one of the them while Avli got the other to herself. Sam barely fit into the bed as it is, let alone with other people, so he took the couch. His lovers didn’t enjoy sleeping without him, but they could make do for now. And anyway, he didn’t really need much sleep to function, as his healing power kept his body in near-perfect condition.

Of course, the two sharing a mattress kept things practically platonic, with Cas just barely resting his arm on Dean’s side. They wouldn’t get a chance at intimacy until they arrived in Seattle.

They repeated the day’s journey from Rapid City to Billings in Montana. The day after that, from Billings to Missoula. Each leg of the trip took about five hours on the road, plus meals and bathroom breaks.

Throughout the trip, they were treated to beautiful mountains. Some shrouded in mist. Some still crowned with snow. Both Avli and their ecstatic driver couldn’t stop staring, especially while they winded through passes and whenever they stopped. Dean knew this part of their drive was at least somewhat for him. His first shared memory in Heaven was of visiting the Rockies with Sam. They meant freedom to him, and change. And they were just really cool to look at. His companions knew that, and they wanted to make him happy.

Avli enjoyed it, too. At a rest stop, Sam caught her sitting on the ground and whispering. She seemed to be complimenting Earth on a particularly stunning peak and asking the planet if there were any more like it. The unheard answer satisfied her. When Sam realized a young couple, which included a very pregnant woman, were staring at Avli, he simply mumbled “Imaginary friend.”

As they made their way through the state, they encountered a loose pattern of mountainous regions and plains, where horses and bison reigned. But the further west they got, the fewer fields remained.

It took only three hours or so to arrive at Spokane, their first stop in Washington state. They pushed on, however, and eventually came to rest in Ellensburg, making it a six-hour ride from Missoula. It was a reasonably small farming town in a flat area. Quaint, in a way. The mountains could still be seen in the distance, which was good enough for Dean.

On the final day of their trip, they made it to Seattle in under two hours. There, the group pulled up to a small rental house in Beacon Hill they’d found online before leaving Sioux Falls. The place had just two bedrooms and one and half baths—more like an apartment than a full-size house—but it was lovely. Covered in flowers. Painted purple with accents of other colors. Because of the decor, the location, and the fact that they only wanted to pay for the first month up-front, the rent was very high.

Dean got out of the car and stretched. He opened the trunk, grabbed a duffle bag, and headed for the door. The key could be found in a lockbox next to the door handle, the combination for which had been emailed to them once their deposit cleared. Cas took a couple of smaller bags, too, but his main concern was Avli. Sam didn’t mind that most of the hauling of their items came down to him. He figured he could do it in three trips, maybe two. They could help unpack once he got everything inside. Since the weather was wonderful, he took his time.

A mistake. During his second run, two large men approached. He could vaguely see them in his peripheral vision. They were big even compared to Sam, who at 6’ 4” wasn’t exactly small in stature. He froze. Without turning, “Can I help you?”

One of them tried to trip him, but he used the car to stay upright. In the next instant, a heavy arm wrapped around his neck in a sleeper hold position. He grabbed the arm with both hands and kicked off of the car. The man lost his footing and landed hard on his back with Sam on top of him. The healer kicked and elbowed the guy until he got free, but now there were three more assailants, all gigantic. He took a hard swing at one of them, breaking the man’s jaw (and his own hand in the process). He winced but tried not to let it bother him. His healing power would take care of it in time or if he had to, he could fix it immediately.

He called out to Dean and Cas, but neither of them heard him. Shit. The attackers rushed him. One hit him in the face, producing a black eye, and another punched him in the gut, which brought him to his hands and knees. A kick to his ribcage further immobilized him. He intentionally started healing some of the damage—particularly a ruptured kidney that might prove fatal to a normal person. He groaned. One of the guys dragged him to his feet and began pulling him toward a white van. Sam kept fighting. He kicked out and broke one of the side windows on the Chevy, an act that would certainly tell his companions that he met with foul play.

Another hit, this time to his side, knocked the wind out of him. Coughing, his struggling diminished significantly. He felt lightheaded from all the healing and exhausted from fighting. When they threw him into the back of their vehicle, he could do little else but curl up in a ball. The men filed into the van, and it took off. Shortly after, they zip-tied his hands and covered his eyes with a blindfold.

Sam tried to remain calm. “They sent all of you just for me.” He laughed.

“Quiet, or we’ll go back for the other three.”

He laughed even louder. “You try that. See how it works out.” He pressed his wrists against his stomach as a particularly large amount of pain coursed through him. Another cough, and he tasted blood. But he wasn’t in any danger of dying, despite how much he felt like he was. “There’s a reason you took me when they weren’t around.”

“So that kid wouldn’t watch us beat your ass?”

“So you could have a chance at actually succeeding.” He grinned, his teeth stained red with blood. “Oh, you have no idea what you’ve just done. You have no idea what’s coming.”

The speaker chuckled. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Just wait.”

The conversation ended there, as he lost consciousness.


	37. Paranoid

Dean was mid-way through a panic attack when Cas took control of the situation. Sam’s sudden disappearance, leaving only a damaged car window behind, caused his soulmate to become paralyzed with fear and worry.

How could they just take him in broad daylight? Didn’t anyone see? If he’d only helped with their belongings…

The angel made sure he took his meds and sat him down on a soft couch, which came with the house. But he couldn’t afford to focus entirely on Dean. While both of them could hazard a guess as to where Sam was being taken—one of the churches in the archdiocese—they could do very little about it. At least not without help.

So, Cas made certain they would have some. He picked up his phone and, with a trembling hand, made a call to Rosa. “They fucking abducted him.” he tried and failed to keep the volume down. “We weren’t here for ten minutes, and he’s gone.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” was all she said. Part of her wanted to be angry that they were so resistant to her help a few days ago, only to beg for it now. But she couldn’t. Her mentor sounded frantic, and she could only assume that Dean was much worse. They were helpless to retrieve Sam, worried sick about him, and probably terrified for their own safety, too. They needed her.

She would have gone immediately but it was better to come prepared. She needed time to pack her things and grab a snack. Rescue missions required a full stomach and plenty of weapons.

Back in Seattle, Cas paced around the front room of the house, keeping an eye on the Corvette, as though, if he stared long enough, Sam would reappear. Eventually, he had to switch gears and comfort Avli, who didn’t understand why the healer was gone. He also took care of Dean, devastated and non-functional as he’d become. His only comfort came in the knowledge that Sam was still alive. The soulmate bond allowed him to feel it.

Cas impatiently waited for Rosa to arrive.

***

They practically threw him out of the van and onto a stone walkway. His blindfold moved a little, and he caught a thin glimpse of the world. Two of the grunts dragged him along the path. He stumbled to his feet at a staircase, and they roughly guided him through heavy wooden doors under a giant archway. From what he could see of the church, it seemed like something from Europe, made to look as old as the cathedrals of England and France. But he had a suspicion that it was mostly just a copy.

He staggered down a long aisle and toward the altar, where he was forced to his knees.

Sam heard footsteps, which stopped near his left side. He couldn’t see who it was, but he had an idea. “Let me guess. Emmanuel, right?”

Someone took hold of his hair, yanked his head back, and placed cold metal against his throat. But moments later, the brute let go, as though he’d been told silently that his behavior was inappropriate.

The healer smiled. “Do you pay these fucks to beat people up and kidnap them or do they volunteer?”

“You don’t look injured,” said a lofty voice.

“Healing quickly is what I do.”

“Then no harm, no foul.” The amount of intended cruelty in the man’s voice unsettled and surprised Sam. Obviously, he’d seen what the thugs could do, but he still believed a man of the cloth should be bound by kindness toward others.

Sam scoffed. “Tell that to my broken ribs.” When no one said anything in response, “What do you want, anyway?”

One of them ripped off his blindfold. He squinted into the light of the church. Sam turned and saw an elderly white man in full archbishop regalia. His skin looked like paper under the harsh lighting. The guy smiled, and his teeth were yellowed from age and possibly a smoking habit. “Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind.”

A voice behind him added: “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

Sighing, Sam shook his head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I can quote Bible verses, too. How about this one? ‘Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness.’ Matthew 9:35. What’s your point?”

“You have just proven it,” said Emmanuel. “Healing is the work of God.”

“Okay?”

“And it is done only by Him and His messengers. For anyone or anything else to pose as a messenger is blasphemy. And you are no messenger of God.”

Sam snorted. “I came back from the dead, and I heal people with just a touch. What makes you so sure I’m not?”

“No angel would be so arrogant or public.” The man placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gripped it tight enough to hurt. “And to pretend that you might be the second coming of Christ only confirms our suspicions. You are a vile creature hoping to lead parishioners away from God. A demon or some other kind of malicious force.”

The healer burst out laughing, and he didn’t stop for at least a minute. His whole body ached. He couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of the situation. “Have you ever actually met an angel?”

“Of course we have.”

“In person? Because in my experience, when left to their own devices, most of them _are_ arrogant and public. With exceptions.” One very amazing exception. “I could try and bring one here, but you’d probably just accuse it of being a demon, too.” He sighed. “No, I think you haven’t actually met an angel. Maybe your secret society has, but you haven’t. And if you really think I’m a demon, why don’t you exorcise me? If you forget the words, I can write them down for you.”

“This isn’t the movies. We have many ways to determine your true character.”

A child, no more than thirteen, appeared from a side door. He carried a bundle of white satin. When he arrived next to the archbishop, the kid dropped down to his knees and offered the contents: a medium-sized sword with rusted edges, and an unmistakable emblem on the hilt. That of the Inquisition. The priest took the weapon and held it horizontally in both hands.

Sam doubted they could do enough damage with that thing—especially wielded by a man that old—to actually kill him, but he obviously didn’t want to take the chance. “What if I told you that I’m not a messenger of God, but that one gave me the power I have? Would you believe an angel gifted it to me?”

“Why would an angel appear to _you_?” asked one of the grunts, which earned him a glare from the archbishop, who seemed to prefer running the show.

Careful. “I helped save his life.”

“How?” asked Emmanuel, with more curiosity in his voice than moments before.

“He chose free will over obeying the orders of other angels. Not of God, but of angels pretending to be God. He chose it for many reasons, all of which even you might find admirable. When other angels came to destroy him, I helped prevent that. And when my angel made mistakes, I forgave him. For that and more, he gave me the power. He believes, as I do, that I can help people with it, that I can eliminate suffering.” Sam tried to fix his posture, but his body protested. “The angel is now mortal as a result.”

The archbishop blinked in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“How do you think I got in and out of those rooms so quickly?” he adjusted his approach. “That was an angel, too. The woman who accompanied me, who provided protection. She is a different type of angel than the one that gave me my abilities.”

He swore he could hear crickets in lieu of his audience having anything to contribute. Going on, “Look, there’s a lot you don’t know about the world. I’m sure there’s some stuff you know that I don’t, too. But I’m not a creature or a monster. I’m a Christian! I honestly thought a bishop would not be deceptive to get me here. I _believed_ I would be safe.” He laughed dismissively. “But I should have known better, because the world is full of evil shit, and why should I be allowed to counter it without having my life threatened? Over and over and over.”

Emmanuel looked puzzled. His worn old hands held the sword without shaking, and for a moment Sam had to reconsider whether or not the guy could use it to murder him. “Your ability makes you immortal?”

Shaking his head, “No. No, just hard to kill.” He gulped. “I died, for real. I went to Heaven. I _loved_ Heaven. But some higher power needed me to go rescue a child, so myself and my—my friends were brought back to accomplish the job.”

But the archbishop ignored the question and so did Sam. “Why your friends, too? Do they also heal?”

He was getting tired of all the questioning. “We’re a packaged deal. We were together in life and in the afterlife. I don’t and won’t work without them by my side. Do you know about soulmates? Do you know how that works?”

Emmanuel tilted his head to one side. “God makes two souls at the same time who are meant to meet in life. Romantic love is the common result.”

“And then you share Heaven with that person.”

“You’re saying you have a soulmate.”

“Yeah.”

“And who is your soulmate?”

He smiled and look down at the carpet. Fuck it. “Dean Winchester.”

The archbishop didn’t immediately recognize the name, but another priest, a younger man moved to his side and whispered in his ear. The man’s face turned red. “How dare you sully the name of God by—”

“By telling the truth? Now here’s the real kicker. The other guy? My _friend_? That’s my angel in a mortal form. Despite his rebellion, he was accepted back into Heaven to live out eternity with us. Because his relationship to us is akin to what we have with each other.” He rubbed at his forehead with both thumbs. “Long story. Anyway, if you killed me, I would just go back there. And then my brother and our angel would probably off themselves because they can’t function any better without me than I can without either of them.”

Eager to move on, “And the woman? Is she a lover of yours as well?”

He shook his head. “No. Even if I were interested, which I’m not, my soulmate bond would never allow it. Our angel is an exception because he does not have a human soul, and I’m connected to him through the power he gave me.” After a moment to think it over, Sam continued. “The woman is a powerful colleague. The daughter of a human woman and the archangel Gabriel.”

“Blasphemy!” yelled one of the brutes.

“Maybe. As far as I can tell, everything that’s happened was either sanctioned by God directly—like me and Dean—or by angels. It might not be in the Bible, but it’s not as vile as I’m sure you think it is. I _believe_ that this is God’s plan for me. That, if nothing else, all of these things had to happen to get me to the point where I could help people. Where I could stop being a hunter and start being a healer.”

“Wait, a hunter?!” the younger priest intruded. “You’re a hunter?”

Sam nodded. “I was. I was a very good hunter. When needed, I still can be. I take it you know what a hunter is.”

The various men looked at each other with knowing glances. “Uh, yeah. We know,” said the priest. “We’re hunters. This is a council of ordained hunters.”

“Like the Inquisition?”

“Partially. The witch hunts were us. We had nothing to do with Spain, and the trials were just one small chapter in our history,” the archbishop returned to the conversation. “If you’re a hunter, or you were, why haven’t you been hunted because of your power?”

Sam laughed again. “What do you call this?”

“Other than us.”

“In my last life, I specifically helped hunters as a profession. They needed me so that they could keep doing their jobs. I also helped their families and even pets. I help anyone I come in contact with. For instance, if you weren’t trying to kill me, Emmanuel, I’d cure your liver cancer.”

“My what?”

Sam lifted his head. “Stage three, I think. You could beat it on your own, but at your age, it’s not likely.” He leaned forward a little and looked him straight in the eye. “You’ve been feeling tired lately, right? Losing weight? Not hungry? I could fix it for you if you want, but you’re gonna have to put down the sword.”

Visibly shaken, “It’s unnatural. You can’t go against God’s will.”

“That’s like saying you shouldn’t go to the doctor because God wanted you to have the flu. Or get chemo and medicine. God plants the seeds in people so they want to become doctors. God encourages us to help each other. And God made me the way I am. He made our angel, too. He does all of this with love. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m _doing_ God’s work. I’m helping people who need to be helped.”

The archbishop didn’t get a chance to respond. At the far end of the church, a very displeased Rosa stood just inside the large doors—which hadn’t been opened. She pointed a shotgun at the group, but it was mostly for show. Her real weapon, a much more impressive-looking sword, was charged and ready at her side. Moments later, one of the doors physically opened, and Dean strode in. He immediately pointed a handgun at the group.

Sam knew they were there by feel. He sensed that Dean was tired. A little drugged. Worn out from the stress of temporarily losing his brother. It must’ve been so awful for him, Sam thought. Even if he didn’t have PTSD.

But here he was, ready to start shooting as many of these holy freaks as needed to get Sam back. And he brought reinforcements. He brought a woman who _enjoyed_ killing people. “Let him go,” Dean ordered. “Right now!”

“You might wanna do what he says,” Sam advised the clergy and their oversized pals. “There’s no reason for anyone to die today, but that’s what’s gonna happen if you try anything.”

Most of the men put their hands up. The archbishop turned his back on the newcomers and carefully placed his sword on the altar. When he turned back, Rosa had advanced in a blink of an eye. She sheathed her sword, grabbed Sam, and was gone. Dean disappeared, too, and all three were back in the little house across town. It was only a temporary fix to the problem, but Sam would be safe for the time being.

The healer could not stand on his own volition, and he dropped back to his knees the moment Rosa let him go. An unfortunate combination of his remaining injuries and the heavy exercising of his power. His head drooped a little, and like every other time he overworked himself, he looked intoxicated. He laughed, but it was tinged in sadness. His heart ached. He felt like a moron for bringing them here, for subjecting them to his capture and whatever else might follow.

Dean fell to the ground with him. He reached into his own back pocket and produced a small knife, which he quickly used to remove Sam’s restraints. He lifted his soulmate’s head and kissed him. Eventually, he pulled away. “Glad to have you back, Sammy.”

He embraced Dean and held onto him for a really long time. “Sorry about the car window.”

“Shut up.”


	38. Good Pain

The smart thing to do would’ve been to leave Seattle and never come back. But Sam gathered from his little interrogation that the organization was everywhere. Perhaps the U.S. headquarters was in Seattle, but they might have home bases in every country on the planet. They would have to look over their shoulders no matter where they went. He wanted to finish what he started.

He thought perhaps he’d gotten through to them a little. They seemed to have good intentions—paving a hellish road—and the knowledge of their leader being sick might sweeten things up a little. It wasn’t technically a lie. The guy really did have liver cancer. But he exaggerated its seriousness. The disease was probably stage one. Normal treatment at this stage could save his life. However, Sam silently hoped the guy wouldn’t go to a doctor any time soon. That way, they might be willing to work with him on less violent terms.

No one really liked the plan. Couldn’t they deal with these fuckers from New York or L.A.? Why stay so close? But Sam needed to recover, and he might be right about the group’s reach. They would just have to be very careful here.

Inevitably, Rosa moved herself in as a precaution. They didn’t have a room for her, so she slept on the couch. She would help protect them as she always did, and to an extent, they liked having her around, too. With the witch in charge of their safety, they focused on other things. Sure, she could be absolutely irritating, but Cas enjoyed her company, and Avli looked forward to their sessions with Earth. Unfortunately, the latter would be put on hold until things were more stable. She could babysit, though, and talk to the girl about what she already knew.

Cas became the uniting factor among them. Though his only self-assigned job was to be a parent, he had to manage Dean’s illness, take care of Sam post-attack, and moderate between Rosa and the others. He excelled at this, but it was exhausting.

While most of his work went unacknowledged, it was almost always noticed. Sam hadn’t overworked himself to the point of immobility—save for the first night back—so a few days later, he made sure Cas knew how appreciative he was. And he brought Dean along. The two of them found their angel spread out on the shared bed. Avli went to bed hours ago. Rosa was downstairs studying something related to magic. And Cas would probably pass out soon.

Unless given a reason to stay up.

Sam thought he looked positively radiant on the bed. Just lying there, one arm up by his head. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Sleepily, he looked at the Winchesters and smiled.

The healer returned the expression before approaching the bed and climbing on. “Want some company?”

“Always.”

They spent the rest of the evening pleasuring their angel in a slow but deliberate fashion, culminating in incredible orgasms for all involved. It provided much-needed stress relief for the three, but especially Cas. He needed the release. Worn out, they fell asleep in each other’s arms soon after.

***

It was mid-morning, about a week and a half after Sam’s abduction, when the doorbell rang. The brothers and Rosa were off shopping for supplies and household items. The witch wanted to replenish her supply of basic herbs, while Dean needed real food in the house, and Sam had a list from Cas regarding appliances and basic kitchen supplies. They planned to be gone all morning.

Avli was busy in the small, enclosed backyard, watering the flowers.

Cas assumed it was the delivery of a larger mattress for their room—one that could more easily fit three grown men. But when he looked through the peephole, a solitary old man stood on the doorstep. He gulped. It could be a neighbor, but he doubted it. Though the guy wasn’t dressed in a priest’s clothes, he certainly looked like he could be one. When the bell rang again, he quickly grabbed the angel sword from a drawer in a small piece of furniture. He placed the weapon just out of view behind the door as he opened it.

With a contrived smile, and manufactured innocence, “Hi there!”

The man cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

“I live here. I’m—”

“You’re Dean Winchester,” the guy cut him off.

Cas blinked. He tried not to laugh at the idea. No one who knew them would ever mistake Cas for his much more rugged companion. But he reminded himself that this man, as weak and alone as he appeared, could still be a threat. He adjusted his grip on the blade. “No, I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

“No, you have to be. You’re the brother.”

Cas put his other arm on the doorframe, making it clear that he wouldn’t let this guy into the house. He thought with a pang of horror that Avli could come back in at any time and immediately be in danger. “Sir, my name isn’t Dean. There’s no one here by that name.” At the moment. “I’m sorry.” He tried to close the door, but the man blocked it with his foot.

“Wait a second.” He stared at Cas with a strange sort of awe written on his face. “You’re not him. No, I think I met him already. You—you’re the angel, aren’t you? You’re actually an angel.”

With that, there could be no doubt about this man’s identity. He was the archbishop who brought them here. Emmanuel. “Something like that.”

To Cas’s absolute surprise, the man took hold of his hand and kissed his ring finger near the knuckle. Like one might do with the Pope or a cardinal. Abruptly, he let go but kept his head bowed. “Forgive me, for I didn’t know.”

Cas’s mouth dropped open. He reminded himself that this could still be a charade. But he couldn’t deny that being recognized for what he was—in a positive way—made him feel good. He might’ve been blushing. “Your soldiers hurt Sam Winchester, and you planned to kill him,” he accused. “No man’s soul is pure, but you convicted him of crimes he didn’t commit.”

“Gracious One, that was a mistake.”

“You are alive only because we have allowed it,” Cas continued. “You and your pals.”

The archbishop nodded his head solemnly. “I’m appreciative of your mercy. May I ask, what is your name? What do they call you in Heaven?”

He snorted. Trying to sound as Biblical as possible, “Hearing my name in the language of angels would literally deafen you. But we are all given an Earthy voice through the bodies we inhabit. If you wish to hear that name, it’s Castiel.” He barely used it anymore. In his human life, his name was Lucas, and he always went by Cas. He only ever acknowledged a different name when others chose it for him. _Cassie. Uncle Lukie. Mr. Castiel_.

His lovers only ever called him Cas.

“Castiel,” the man repeated in admiration. “Thank you.”

“Why are you here, Emmanuel?” Cas got to the point. “Why have you come here?”

“I must see Sam.”

“To atone?”

The man shook his head. “I must do that too, but I didn’t come for that purpose. I’m sick. I want to ask him to heal me.”

“Why should he do such a thing?”          

“I don’t know. But I must ask, anyway. I can’t be ill. Not now. So much rides on my ability to lead a flock. If I cannot, the world will become imbalanced. I don’t yet have a replacement.” He rubbed at his nose. “May I come in?”

Cas straightened his posture and took a careful step back. A couple more, and the archbishop could freely enter the house. When he did, he caught a glimpse of the silvery sword as the angel shut the door. His already pale skin grew bloodless at the sight of it. Not only did he fear it, but he recognized it. Cas tilted his head a little. “You know what this is?”

Emmanuel gave a single nod. “The spear of a warrior angel. It’s described in our council histories.”

“Sam said your organization claimed to have met one of us.”

“Yes.”

Cas motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. When he did, “What was the angel’s name?”

“Melchior. As you can imagine, the Vatican did not take kindly to hearing that the Bible mislabeled him. My predecessors had to vow never to reveal it to anyone outside the council. I think an exception can be made for a messenger of God.” He looked around the house and ran his fingers along the edge of the table. “As I understand it, all three magi were angels.”

“They are,” Cas confirmed. “I know Melchior, and Balthazar is my friend. Both rebelled in the war.” He didn’t intend on elaborating beyond that.

Emmanuel seemed to sense that, so he switched topics. “Is Sam here?” He feared the healer might be gone due to the archbishop’s clumsy attempt at ascertaining knowledge from him. Perhaps the angel remained here as a decoy, or a line of defense.

“No.” As the priest’s heart sank, “He and the others are on an errand. They’ll be back by lunch.”

“Others?”

He reluctantly took a seat across from the old man and sat the sword down between them. He didn’t take his hand off of it. “Dean and the, uh—the half-archangel Rosa.” He almost said “witch,” but he remembered Sam telling him that the secret society was once part of the witch trials. They decided not to tell Rosa about that just yet, as her tendency toward violence might lead to wanting retribution. Along those lines, he didn’t think this man needed to know about Rosa’s chosen profession.

“She’s really the illegitimate child of a woman and an archangel?”

Cas scoffed. “No child is illegitimate. Rosa’s mother couldn’t conceive, so Gabriel mended the problem.” His friend hadn’t told many people that, but she told Cas. Her grandmother used to say she was a miracle baby—despite killing her mother by being born—because everyone thought she couldn’t have children. So that left two possibilities. Her mother didn’t use protection because she wasn’t worried, unlikely during the 1980s and the AIDS crisis, or she was told she could have a baby after all. No one except Gabriel knew for certain which was the case, but Cas liked to think it was the latter.

“I’m sure Melchior told your people: not everything taught in your church is correct or even in the spirit of God,” he pointed out. “Things like who sleeps with who, provided it’s consensual, or whether or not a person dies by suicide—these are not sins. These don’t effect if you go to the Kingdom. You don’t even have to have faith. You just have to be a decent person.”

The archbishop stared at him for a long time. Then, “Is that God’s will or your own?”

“God’s. The thing I disagreed with, that a lot of us disagreed with, was being mindless soldiers. We were given the ability to reason, but not the permission. But when it became clear that God wasn’t talking anymore, that’s when the war started.” He sighed. “I rebelled pretty much by accident. I was sent to earth as a punishment for a minor indiscretion, and when they tried to bring me back, I refused. I didn’t know the stakes.” He rolled the sword under his hand. “Balthazar did, though. He led the rebellion.”

“But the war ended? You talk as though it’s all behind you. What do angels who battled against each other do now?”

Cas kept his eyes trained on the weapon. “Most of them didn’t survive it. Including the archangel Raphael. Michael was wounded, so Gabriel runs the Kingdom now. Those who sided with the status quo continue their jobs as soldiers. Those who didn’t? They do whatever they want. Gabriel doesn’t enforce loyalty. He allowed me to enter the Kingdom as a mortal, before we were brought back.”

“You went to Heaven with the Winchesters?” He’d been told this by Sam, but he still didn’t believe it or really understand the implications.

“Yeah.” He produced a slight smile. “I have millennia of memories to share with them. We spent ten years adventuring.”

“Who sent you back?”

Cas had enough of being questioned. The conversation felt like a twisted version of the one he had with Frank. “What, exactly, is the name of your organization? For something you talk about a lot, you haven’t once mentioned what it’s called.”

Before the conversation could continue, Avli appeared in the back doorway, her arms and knees covered in dirt. She wrinkled her nose at the newcomer. “She doesn’t like him.” She, as in Earth. “She says he hurt Mr. Sam.”

“He’s not gonna hurt anyone anymore,” Cas assured her. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and play in your room for a while? We can go for a walk when our guest leaves.”

She wasn’t thrilled, but she trusted Cas. “Okay.” With that, she wandered by them, climbed the stairs, and disappeared.

“Lovely child,” the archbishop commented, hoping to avoid the original question.

But Cas was unrelenting. “The _name_.”

Straightening in his chair, Emmanuel hesitated for a moment. Eventually, “Congregation for the Defense of the Faithful. We’re also referred to as Saint George’s Choir.” He sighed. “We are the tenth congregation of the Roman Curia. The one they don’t talk about, for obvious reasons.”

“Because you kidnap people.”

“Because we predate every other congregation by about fourteen-hundred years, and we do things that don’t necessarily fit with Catholic doctrine.” He shifted his weight, and the wood in his chair squeaked. “We know things we’re not supposed to know, and we kill to defend that knowledge and humanity as a whole.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You don’t know terribly much,” he pointed out.

“We know more than most hunters, and we’re always bringing in new information. Thus, our questioning of Sam. And this conversation.” Emmanuel turned and looked out the window before facing the angel once more. “Obviously, my men took it too far. They’re used to demons, and you’re, uh—Sam—he put up a fight.”

They both heard a key slide into the front lock. Moments later, the door opened. Sam was the first to come in. He nearly dropped the bags of utensils and groceries in his arms. He quickly placed them on the floor and took a tentative step forward. “Cas?! Cas, what the hell is he doing here?”

Cas swiveled in his chair and showed off the angel sword. “He’s alone. And somewhat apologetic.” He gave a reassuring glance. “We’ve been talking about angels… and secret organizations.”

The archbishop stood up, only to have a gun pulled on him by Dean, who was second through the door. When Rosa realized what was going on, she skipped the line and flew into the living room. “Where’s Avli?” she asked.

“Upstairs. Safe and sound.”

“What the fuck is going on?!” came from Dean.

Cas pointed his sword at Emmanuel. “Sit back down,” he ordered. “And we can talk some more.” The man quickly complied. “Now, I believe you have some stuff you wanna say to Sam.”

***

The others strongly felt that things would be better if the archbishop’s hands were cuffed, so they did that right off the bat. A little revenge for using a damn zip-tie on Sam’s wrists. They didn’t like him being in the kitchen, either, so they dragged him over to the living room and put him on the floor, with his back to the sofa. A ring of chairs formed a half-circle around him as the four adults set up for a proper interrogation. Cas didn’t think any of it was necessary, but he also didn’t mind. Anyone who laid a hand on Sam (or Dean for that matter) deserved far worse than having to sit on the floor for a while.

After receiving a brief summary of the prior conversation, the Winchesters and Rosa took the lead. They asked him about everything from how he knew that they were in town in the first place to what exactly the council did. The former was easy: they had some of their more technologically inclined people looking for anyone leasing a place or checking into a hotel that had the name Sam or Dean, preferably both. When they rented the house under Dean’s fake ID, a red flag went up, and a little digging revealed that their car had South Dakota plates.

The latter was more complicated. To Rosa’s simultaneous delight and dismay, the main purpose of Saint George’s Choir was to locate and defend giant pools of Earth energy, which they felt was a gift from god. The thrill came from knowing that there were several here in Seattle. Pain and irritation arose from the organization’s list of things they were supposedly defending it from. Witches were at the top of the list, followed shortly after by demons and demigods. To protect a worldly balance, Emmanuel said, the pools could only be used in their own defense, to essentially perform a type of Christian magic against anyone else who might want to use them.

In the end, the emotion she finally settled on was anger. How dare these people bogart something that didn’t belong to them? The energy was given to _all_ humans who could wield it. Hell, she had express permission from its creator—the planet itself—to use it whenever she needed to.

This revelation explained why she never sensed it here or anywhere else. They were shielding the power. Hiding it.

And she suspected that if they went to so much trouble preventing witches from using the energy, then they probably didn’t like them in general. If the group was almost as old as Christianity itself, then it easily predated the torturing and murdering of thousands of witches (and unlucky non-witches) across Europe and colonial United States. Rosa thought perhaps these people might be even more repulsive than most hunters. If they were, killing this man might go a long way to creating a real balance.

She wanted so badly to tell the archbishop that the energy wasn’t meant for him. She wanted to scream it in his face and then cut him in half. But doing so would betray her position. If she really planned to use that energy, it would be better if no one knew she wanted it. And while cutting into this man would feel good, he had the ability to make his pals trust or at least work with the people in this room. He could be their best advocate if they played their cards right.

So, Rosa was actually kind to him, by her standards. She mostly just asked questions and absorbed the answers. She tried not to seem too interested in the energy or in how they were hiding it. But she did manage to get a few vital pieces of information. The main pool was beneath the largest cathedral, and at least half of the other churches in the diocese were above much smaller ones. There were a few here that couldn’t be built upon, including one in Olympic National Park and one in the middle of Elliott Bay. While the group still managed to protect them, they did it in shifts. Rosa might have a better chance at one of these outlying locations.

Emmanuel mentioned that he thought the pools were not only drying up in some parts of the world but that the attacks on the ones the organization controlled were becoming more frequent. In Sri Lanka, they had to fight off a lesser-known Hindu demigod, and in Mexico, a swarm of demons managed to kill a dozen clergy before being eliminated.

In other words, either more people and creatures wanted energy, or there was less of it to go around (or both), making them desperate. Interesting, Rosa thought. At the end of the day, she still had her own giant battery to use for spells, but of course she wanted more. She wanted to be stronger.

It was her birthright.

The conversation eventually morphed into the reason Emmanuel had arrived at their doorstop. To be healed. Obviously, Rosa, Dean, and even Cas didn’t really think he deserved it. After all, he sent his cronies to hurt an innocent man. But that man’s opinion was the only one that mattered. Sam could not see pain and not want to vanquish it. Even in some relatively awful people. He killed when he had to, but he healed whenever he could. This man didn’t deserve his help, but he would receive it nonetheless. Because Sam helped people.

Tired of the round-about begging, Sam simply reached forward, touched the side of Emmanuel’s neck—just enough skin contact to form a connection—and healed him. Dean reluctantly removed the guy’s restraints a few minutes later. “What else do you want from us?” he asked.

“I think we can learn from each other,” the archbishop said slowly. “And news of an angel walking amongst us could revitalize my people. We thought we were bringing Sam here, but perhaps God sent you to us instead.” He looked at Cas. “Your wealth of knowledge could be vital.”

Like they needed the extra publicity! “What’s in it for us?” Dean pressed.

“Protection within our walls if you so choose it. Access to our libraries. Money and counsel, if you need them. Whatever you require. We would spare no expense for angels and their kin.” He made eye contact with Rosa as well. “You don’t speak much.”

Dean stifled a laugh. Maybe not in dealing with this guy, but she never shut up otherwise. Maybe she had a reason for that, too, he thought. What was she up to?

“I want to see your reservoirs of energy. I’m curious,” was all she said.

“That can be arranged.”

She nodded. With that, the priest handed over his card. “When you would like to join us, call the second number and a car will pick you up. Not a van—a car. No one will lay a finger on you again.” When Dean mumbled that no one ever should have, Emmanuel gave him a sympathetic glance. “I agree. I can only repent.” He got up and moved over to the door. “Thank you.”

Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief upon his departure. The Winchesters initiated a brief discussion about why Cas let him in—it was partly because of the possible repercussions of not doing so—but they soon dropped it. It took bravery to hear the man out, knowing that he didn’t have much in terms of defending himself. And especially knowing that he had to protect Avli. The angel did it anyway, because he didn’t want the situation to escalate. He handled it on his own.

And now, at least on paper, it seemed that Sam’s original idea of what would happen might come to pass. An alliance of some kind. New and better information. Relative safety.

Of course, Rosa saw it differently. These people weren’t safe at all. At best, they were sitting ducks, waiting for something much stronger than them to come along and raid their treasure. At worst, they were witch-hunting psychopaths wielding impossible amounts of power. It was somewhat comforting that they’d been around for so long—nineteen-hundred years or so. Most great evils burned themselves out. But they were propped up by an incredibly powerful institution. They could get away with anything as a result.

Still, Rosa saw potential. She would learn everything she could about the pools of energy and their defenses. And then she would exploit that.

Nearby, Sam grabbed Cas before kissing him passionately. The angel gripped the back of his neck and hung on. They were just happy everything went well, and everyone was safe. In that moment, they didn’t care about the next move. And neither did Dean, who watched them go at it, not with lust but admiration. A strange habit to Rosa, no matter how many times she’d seen it. But she couldn’t really judge any of them for their relationship at this point. She wouldn’t even want to. But she still didn’t understand big portions of it, especially the intenseness of their love for each other. She wasn’t sure she could feel that strongly about anyone.

What she cared about was strength and power. She wanted to be of use, to be helpful. And she longed to be unstoppable.


	39. All Along the Watchtower

Their first appointment had them dressed to impress. Sam, Cas, and Rosa strode through the halls of a gigantic archival and clerical building attached to the main church of the archdiocese. They all wore professional attire, as though they worked there. Slacks. Ties. A pearl-colored satin blouse for Rosa. Suit jackets all around.

Dean sat this one out. Someone had to look after Avli, and Cas’s presence was strongly requested at the meeting. As was Sam’s. Rosa, on the other hand, insisted on tagging along. The older Winchester wanted to go, too, if only to assure his companions’ safety. But they couldn’t leave the girl with a babysitter or by herself. Too dangerous. Too many risks. Dean didn’t feel particularly competent in the childcare category, but he could keep her occupied. Watch TV with her or supervise a coloring session or something.

He did help Cas get dressed, however. Sam more than understood how to wear the right clothes to fit his frame, how to look professional, and to be honest how to own a room through style choices. He did it all the time when they healed out of their house in Philadelphia. Cas’s clothing was usually far more casual, and he really didn’t know much about what people wore in an office setting. His office was a headset and occasionally a desk. He always thought businesspeople were stuffy.

Dean selected a bold purple shirt to go with a thin black tie, along with a jacket and slacks of the same color. Dress shoes. He didn’t know much about nice clothing either. His standard was jeans, a t-shirt, and maybe a leather jacket or some flannel. But he knew what looked good. He watched Sam and liked the fancy duds on him, so he just went with what he liked.

At the end of it all, Cas looked amazing. He easily stacked up against the others. And his sweet smile only added to it.

Rosa looked surprisingly professional. She wore heels—for the first time ever in front of the trio. A pencil skirt. A tailored jacket. And a small gold crucifix of all things. Her hair was pinned back, and she did her makeup conservatively but with precision. It was even more of an act than Cas’s get up, but she executed it well.

With reluctance, Dean stood in the doorway as they left. Avli quickly diverted his attention to their expanding bookshelf, where she selected something for him to read.

Sam surprisingly led the group. Despite an uneasiness of returning to the church premises, he was the most self-assured of the three of them, and he wanted to be strong for the group. So, he made the major decisions, including their plan to drive there about two weeks after they last saw Emmanuel. He made the call to set up the meeting. He helped convince Dean to stay. And he reminded Rosa that they were just there to observe for now. She seemed to genuinely agree. As for Cas, all he did was provide a soft kiss in the parking lot to boost his confidence.

Their visit began with a tour given by a familiar face. The younger priest Sam had seen earlier, who seemed to be the one keeping tabs on them. Micah, apparently. He was in his mid-twenties and played on his phone for half the trip, looking up only to explain in detail what the different rooms and departments did. He seemed bored by the whole thing.

But they weren’t. Cas studied the people closely while Sam mentally took notes and Rosa built a map in her head. In a lot of ways, the interior workings were mostly public. The secretive parts happened in broad daylight, through coded language, government-like levels of security, and the occasional locked door. Much of the history was hinted at in paintings and art throughout, but the rest was in a closed archive that required special permission just to see one book at a time. Sam planned to get unrestricted access if at all possible.

As for evidence of the pools of energy? One need only look at the floor. The tiles were arranged in an almost art nouveau style of curved lines, some of which mimicked ivy or tree branches. Tendrils reached inside each room, with more detail according to the size of the space and importance. Occasionally, there were deer, sheep, and crosses mixed in. But the most vital part of the design was where it began. It reached outward from a gigantic rotating globe, halfway built into the floor, at the center of a large room just behind the main church. As she neared it towards the end of their journey, she could finally feel the power that pulsated beneath.

She tried not to salivate. Carefully, she reached out to touch the globe, but found an invisible but quite tangible barrier between her and the orb.

“It protects the energy,” said Emmanuel from a side doorway. We have every holy protection on it that we know.”

She smirked. “You mean magic.”

“If magic is the movement of energy for a specific purpose, then perhaps. But we use prayer and faith to put them in place. Ancient trial and error gave us these techniques, not a book of spells.” He walked up to her and looked her up and down. “This isn’t your usual attire.”

“You weren’t dressed in vestments when you gained access to our house, archbishop,” she pointed out. “Special situations call for adjustments.”

He gave a nod. “They do indeed.”

“This is a clever way to hide a natural fountain of energy. Do they all look like this?”

“No. Only the biggest ones do. Some just have markers or statues, others are simply taught as part of the process of becoming a member of the Congregation. Of course, those are only the sources under our control. We as an organization protect about a third of the world’s energy ponds. The others are unknown or controlled by followers of different religions.”

Interesting thought. She silently wondered what the other percentages were. “Ahh.”

“Where is the other one? Dean?”

The one that still wanted to see Emmanuel’s head on a stake? “Home, caring for Avli, his daughter.”

“Biologically?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not.”

“Why does he have a child? Your combined professions don’t seem congruent with raising a young one. Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but your lifestyle doesn’t appear very stable.”

Rosa sighed. “You’d be surprised. She’s primarily Cas, uh—Castiel’s responsibility. And she’s the child we were looking to save. The one that got us on the news. She has no one else, and we swore to protect her.” Well, _she_ did. Sam just signed up to save her, and the others didn’t want anything to do with it until after the fact. Of course, Cas fell for the girl the moment he met her, and no one was gonna tell him he couldn’t be a part of her life (expect Avli of course).

“Swore to who?”

“God.” As in, a god. Lowercase G. But she knew he would assume she meant the Abrahamic one who nobody had seen in millennia.

“But you said she’s Dean’s daughter?”

“All three of my friends are her fathers. Revolutionary, I know.” She kept her eyes on the spinning sphere in front of her. The gold and copper inlay was beautiful. “Castiel does the most, because he is the most capable. But each have heavy contributions. They all love her.”

He took a step closer. “And you?”

“Avli is precocious and even-tempered. She’s a joy to be around. And she loves nature. Occasionally, I babysit.” She put her hand up again and specifically felt the magical barrier. “Why are you so interested in her?”

“Sam Winchester healed fifty-some people all around the world to find her. Seems like her importance extends far beyond her being a lovely child.”

She laughed dismissively. “Sam can heal more than a dozen people in a day. Twenty if he pushes himself. We learned that the child was being imprisoned by an evil force, so I killed it, and Sam healed her. It was pretty much business as usual. The only difference being that we now have a child in tow.”

Emmanuel wanted to ask why on Earth that specific child was being attacked, but he knew that it might not matter. Evil did evil things because it could. Instead, “We have a school here you could enroll her in. We’re quite progressive. And there’s a special program for Saint George. She could become one of us eventually.”

What, as a nun? No way. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Whatever Avli wanted to do with her life, she had a right to do it. Being shipped off to Catholic school wouldn’t allow her any kind of freedom. They weren’t sure if they’d put her in public school or try and teach her at home, but this wasn’t even remotely what any of them wanted. Cas and Dean would probably freak out just at the suggestion. “Avli was born Hindu. We’re not converting her,” she said definitively. “But I’ll mention it to the others in case they want to know more.”

“But you’re an angel of the Lord!”

Another laugh. “Of course, but the Lord gave humans free will, and it’s not as if the Hindu gods aren’t real, too. The girl has very little left of her culture and her life before us. It would be unbelievably cruel to strip it from her, don’t you think? C’mon, Padre. You know that’s not what God wants.”

To be clear, she had no idea what the Abrahamic God wanted or didn’t want, but she agreed with her own bullshit here. Avli was reincarnated in the Hindu tradition. She wasn’t just an automatic follower for seven years. It was centuries. Even if she could be convinced that Christianity was better—which only Sam among them might believe—why on Earth would they want to try? And speaking of which, the planet itself would probably be pretty angry if they did.

“Have you spoken with God?” he asked, not as a challenge but out of genuine curiosity. There was desperation in his voice. A little fracture that betrayed doubt.

“No, but I can feel Him,” Rosa lied. She clenched her hand into a fist and placed it over her heart for effect. “I can feel His benevolence. He shines His light on the Winchesters, on Castiel and Avli. Even on me. He has plans for us.” If nothing else, it would benefit them if this man thought they were graced by God. The fact that she was part angel helped, and Cas’s mere presence seemed to astound the man. She thought perhaps she could convince him of a nonexistent connection with his deity.

Emmanuel seemed to believe her, but he kept up his questioning. “He condones the—the uniqueness of them?”

The part where it was two species and two brothers rolling in the hay? To be honest? It seemed like it. Soulmate bonds were made by gods. Dean and Sam were soulmates. As for Cas’s involvement, his meeting with the older Winchester was more than serendipitous. Dean just happened to call the wrong sex hotline—yeah, she knew about that—and talk to the one person who just happened to be an angel, and keep talking to him, and then they just happened to end up on a case that involved him? Please. She didn’t believe in coincidences, especially not ones that unlikely. Something wanted them to meet, for whatever reason. And they did.

She’d never shared her thoughts on that to them, but she didn’t need to. They _felt_ like they belonged together. They didn’t require confirmation.

“He set it up, Emmanuel. He made it happen. This is God’s will. It’s fate.” She smiled as she heard the others, including that young priest, moving up one of the nearby corridors. “God works in mysterious ways, right? Who are we to challenge it?” She touched her necklace, a hand-me-down from her grandmother that she felt was appropriate for this meeting. “God is good.”

When she saw her friends and the other priest, they’d picked up an elderly Filipino archivist named Vergel that she remembered from the tour. Despite his profession, he had a fisherman’s hands, and she strongly suspected he didn’t always work for the archdiocese. He and Sam were engaged in a conversation about Old English manuscripts. Apparently, there was some evidence to suggest a member of the organization was the one killed by Anguish circa the year 1000. The archivist was impressed that Sam made the connection.

Cas listened to the conversation while surreptitiously peering over Micah’s shoulder, to see what he was doing on his phone. Rosa thought it was clever of him to be doing so, though she doubted anything would come from it. The skinny white kid was addicted to digital stimulation. She’d met hundreds of guys like him. He couldn’t sit still without a screen in his hands.

Emmanuel noticed them a few seconds later. He motioned for the group to join him and Rosa by the energy access point. Smiling, “How did you find the tour? Interesting, I hope?”

Breaking off his conversation with Vergel, Sam nodded. “You have a wealth of information here.”

“And it’s all very beautiful,” Cas added, as though he wasn’t still incredibly suspicious of these people and their intentions. He was. But he wanted to make it seem like he was smitten with the place and the process.

Rosa agreed, turning back to the globe. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“I can see this relationship flourishing,” Sam continued, sounding much more official than his usual tone. “I would like to come back and study your archives, if you’ll have me. I think I may have some missing pieces to contribute.” His humbleness was a little annoying to the others, considering he’d been beaten within an inch of his life by these people. But you could catch more flies with honey, and all three of them knew it. “It could be a mutually beneficial partnership.”

With a fake smile, Rosa bobbed her head. “I might be able to inform you on further protections for your energy reserves,” she said carefully. “To keep them as safe as possible.”

“Both of those proposals are more than acceptable,” Emmanuel said immediately, with glee. Then, “Now, Castiel, would you be so inclined to meet with our board? A visit from a real angel could prove completely instrumental in our continued development as a functioning body. It would be on the record, for our personal use, but we could make it as informal or formal as you would like. The board I speak of consists of myself, several regional cardinals, and the president of SGC. We would be eternally grateful for your insights.”

Cas looked at Sam first and then Rosa, unsure of what to say. When the latter gave a very subtle nod—seeing yet another opportunity to manipulate these people—he acquiesced. “I would.” Dean wouldn’t like it. He didn’t think they should get very close to the group at all. But maybe he’d come around eventually.

“Is there anything your companion might want? Dean?”

Before Sam could say that he wouldn’t want anything, Cas raised an eyebrow. “There’s a window on the driver’s side of our Corvette that needs fixing. War casualty.”

Emmanuel smiled out of discomfort. “Consider it done.”

With that, they made their way out. Sam vowed to begin his research on the following Monday, and to spend some time there most weekdays. He also planned to attend a service or two, despite his faith being fairly non-denominational. Rosa would make an appointment at a later date, and Cas would appear when asked, as most of the board would have to come to Seattle from around the world. He didn’t look forward to it, but he could manage.

Mostly, they were just happy to go home for now. They needed to create a routine of some kind, and the angel wanted to check in on Avli. Putting on such a show was exhausting. They were worn out. All three felt relieved once they returned to the car. Upon their return, Dean smiled up at them from a large book, as did the girl, who sat on the floor in front of him.

When they woke up the next day, the window was already fixed.

***

Part of Sam’s deal with the archivist involved permission to take notes that would not be scrutinized. He could write down whatever he wanted and take that information with him. In return, he would offer up slivers of information to connect the dots between tomes, using basic outside research and his already substantial knowledge of demons, creatures, and mythology. He may have been enthralled with the new information, but he wasn’t stupid. He needed to get more out of this than the council got out of him. And he reminded himself that they were planning to kill him at one point.

Rosa would benefit the most, however. Her intentions were transparent to her pals, who easily noticed her interest in the pools of energy. Of course she would go after them. She was willing to tangle with Yemaya for extra juice. Why wouldn’t she take on a gaggle of slightly misinformed clergy? She loved power. But more than that, her body craved it. She was a walking imbalance, only half as powerful as she felt she was supposed to be, and only half as human as everyone thought she should be. Extra power, to her, felt like medicine or a really good shot of caffeine. She couldn’t fix having only half a soul. But she could become more powerful.

Cas’s role was the least advantageous to them. He would be exposing himself as a non-human to a group of people who fought non-humans. Only their reverence for anything tied to God comforted him (and Dean by proxy). He did have control over what he told them—and he was very good at telling stories when he needed to—but part of him was afraid he might give in to pressure or say something too personal by accident. Thankfully, a call from Micah revealed that the board wouldn’t be meeting for at least a month.

Which was good, because the whole thing had Dean in an awful place. Since his treatments were stalled, he still felt anxious, and he worried about his companions getting so close to people who he already considered monsters. He needed constant reassurance that the world wasn’t going to end, that he lovers weren’t going to be killed, tortured, or destroyed. It took a lot of personal energy to help him, but thankfully he had two lovers up for the task.

Still, the job could never be completed. Managing his symptoms was fine and all, but when they weren’t around, he had to handle it himself. Neither Sam nor Cas wanted to see him in pain or know that he would be when they weren’t nearby. They loved him. They wanted him to be happy and content. Peaceful. Healthy. So, the inevitable conversation happened. For Dean to get better in this life, he needed outside help. Medications beyond some stolen Xanax. Antidepressants probably—which should work on the anxiety too—and a prescribing doctor to give them to him and monitor his progress.

They knew he would never go to a therapist, to talk to a stranger about his problems. Even though it might help, provided he didn’t mention the more unnatural elements of his upbringing. But he’d already agreed to take pills for his panic attacks. The two used that as a jumping off point.

“You might not even need the Xanax if you find something that works,” Cas explained, a couple minutes into the conversation. Dean was already on the defensive. “You might not have panic attacks anymore. With the right medicine, you won’t feel very depressed or nervous or anything like that.”

“And I won’t feel anything.”

Cas shook his head. “Unlikely. A little numbing now and then could help, but it’s doubtful you’ll feel like that constantly, or even at all. Antidepressants don’t really sedate you, except sometimes as a side-effect. They try and fix the amount of certain chemicals you produce in your brain. They make it work like it’s supposed to. That’s all.”

“I don’t wanna take anything like that, Cas,” he said in a voice that cracked at the end. Frayed, like his nerves.

The angel nodded, but remained steadfast. “I know you don’t. But I think maybe you _need_ to. We’ll find somebody competent, and you can just try it, okay? Please? It might take a few different meds to find the right one, but when we do, you’re gonna feel so much better. You will. And you won’t even believe you ever felt like this.”

He covered his mouth to avoid showing how upset he was, but the other two could tell Dean was close to tears. He didn’t want to be drugged up all the time, and he definitely didn’t want to admit that his brain was broken, that he couldn’t handle this on his own or with a little support from the people he loved. How the hell did he get here? He used to be able to do so many things. He was a fighter. He worked well, and he did what he had to do. Now? He felt anxious in a quiet room—over _nothing at all_. And he got immensely sad and tired in waves between Sam’s periodic healings.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes. “What would they even put me on?”

“There are dozens of antidepressants. Everybody knows Prozac, but the doctor would probably pick the one they think works best for you.” Cas gripped his hand. “I’m not gonna lie about this. They don’t usually get it right on the first try. But if you’re patient, you can get the help you need.”

His breathing quickened, to the point that Cas feared he might have an attack right there and then, but he reined it in. Sam, who remained mostly silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke up. “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But at least you can say you tried, Dean.”

He looked over at his soulmate with red around his eyes. “What the fuck do I do if it doesn’t work?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try this first,” the angel pointed out.

“Yeah, exactly,” Sam agreed.

He hung his head and covered his face with both hands. Eventually, “How do we find somebody who’ll do it?”

“Let me handle it,” his brother insisted. “I got this.”


	40. The Times They Are a Changin’

It was surprisingly difficult to find a psychiatrist that was taking new patients. But they were helped by not being chained to an insurance company. Since all their money was fake, they had no a problem paying for the sessions. Eventually, Sam found a woman named Dr. Nassar. She had good reviews on every platform he could find, and she specialized in PTSD treatments. On the way to the first appointment, he held Dean’s hand the entire trip.

Cas went, too, leaving Avli with Rosa for a couple hours. They decided to plant herbs in the back garden.

The three arrived early so Dean could fill out all the paperwork. There was a little café in the building’s ground level, so Cas picked out a sugary coffee drink for himself and a slightly more dignified one for Sam. For Dean, he went with iced tea. No need to pump him full of too much caffeine—it would only make him feel more anxious.

And he was. As he filled in the basic information, which he had to read off of a piece of paper since much of his official identity was a lie, his hand trembled. His penmanship suffered as a result, but it was still readable. When he got to the symptoms part, he looked incredibly pale. He didn’t want to tell some stranger what was going on in his life. But he had to. When he finished, he handed the papers over to the desk clerk and sat back down.

A few minutes passed before a woman appeared at the door across from them. She was short—maybe 5’2” at most—but friendly. Rimless glasses. Short haircut. The sweater she wore looked incredibly soft. She called his name.

Dean reluctantly got up and left his partners. She took him into the first office, told him to sit, and closed the door behind him.

The first half of the meeting was all background. How are you feeling? Shitty. Why do you think you feel that way? Shitty childhood. What do you think about medication? He didn’t answer completely honestly for that one. After all, he was there to get medicated, even though he couldn’t stand the idea. Instead, he said he thought it would be necessary. Talking about his problems didn’t help. He was mostly over his awful upbringing, but the symptoms just wouldn’t go away.

The second part involved a small stack of prescription papers. Dean had memorized a speech on how he had panic attacks and couldn’t sleep. When the doctor asked if he’d ever tried Xanax, he said they gave it to him once for tooth surgery, to calm him down (another lie). He didn’t have any major side effects. He wanted more of those pills, at least for now, so he had to make sure they were prescribed. Or else get them illegally. Cas helped him say the right things. She prescribed a sixty-count bottle of the lowest dose.

As for the rest, the ball was in Nassar’s court. She reviewed Dean’s information and decided on Zoloft, a Prozac-like antidepressant that many of her patients found helpful. She also prescribed Gabapentin, a nerve pain medication to be used off-label in the hopes of controlling his constant anxiety. Finally, she wrote a script for an anti-nausea drug, in case any of the new pills caused that fairly common side effect.  He didn’t have to fill that one unless he ran into trouble, she said. And he could call her on an emergency line if anything went bad.

She warned him that he couldn’t drink on top of these medications, nor could he skip doses or adjust the amounts as he saw fit. Most importantly, she stressed that he couldn’t just stop taking the antidepressant. Since the dose had to be slowly raised, Dean needed to gradually taper off of it or else risk getting very sick.

All in all, he’d be taking more than half a dozen pills a day, plus however many Xanax he needed. He felt like an old man.

They stopped at a pharmacy on the way home. Sam filled the prescriptions while Dean and Cas waited in the car. When they got home, Dean swallowed his first dose along with a lump in his throat.

A short but lovely sexual interaction with his angel helped a little, and Sam provided a big kiss before and after.

***

It took two days for him to start puking. Neither letting himself vomit nor taking the meds to try and stop it got rid of the nausea completely. And it only grew worse as the dosage increased on a predetermined schedule. He didn’t want to die before he went to see the shrink, but now he fucking did.

A return to the office resulted in a quick change of medication, this time to Lexipro.

Slowly, the nausea subsided and was gone after a week. Headaches, likely from being dehydrated, also passed, and in general he felt better. Not great, but not quite as miserable.

While he worked pretty much entirely on himself, life continued for the others. Rosa visited the archdiocese three times since he first saw the doctor. On each occasion, she learned a little more about what they did and didn’t do to protect the energy from unwanted users. There were very few holes in their shielding design, but they did exist. She pointed out one insignificant weak spot and suggested how it might be fixed. The rest she filed away for later. Each day, when she got home, she wrote down everything she could remember about the flaws in their barrier.

Sam started to piece together what they knew and what they didn’t. The group had a pretty good understanding of the types of creatures in the world—all the basic ones hunters knew, plus the existence of angels, and a list of known demigods (alive and dead). He helped Vergel add a few more, including Yemaya as a confirmed real goddess and the Other as a dead fire god. The archivists already knew about Anguish, but he was happy to tell them that Rosa and Cas (and Bobby) killed it. He also updated them on the status of the archangels: that Gabriel ran heaven because Michael was injured and Raphael deceased. He failed to mention who caused it. He just said it happened during the war.

He didn’t mention the Living Tree, seeing as how it was a little frightening to look at and weak enough to be hurt. He never elaborated on Balthazar, either. They wouldn’t learn about the Colt, Crowley, or Azazel. No demon blood. No circumvented destiny. No painful misstep by Cas. Nothing like that. He didn’t even tell them that Dean had wings. They failed to understand that, when he disappeared from the church, it was under his own volition. They assumed Rosa grabbed him, too.

Just as he wrote down anything that could be useful, he kept a list of things he’d mentioned to ensure everyone at home was on the same page.

But the careful dissemination of info on his part was just so he could gain access to their impressive library. They kept names and genealogies on nearly every person who had ever been a member. They had whole books of theory on why certain creatures existed and if they had a purpose in the natural order. They stored thousands of academic-quality papers written by their own people. Ancient manuscripts, including one prized piece on Melchior’s visit, filled up three whole rooms. And there was at least twice that amount devoted to Christian paintings with relevant subjects. Sure enough, in the main room for art history, he found a gigantic framed picture of a saint killing a dragon.

Thus the name: Saint George’s Choir. They were the ones who killed monsters and helped those who did. If not for their staunch beliefs, Sam would fit in well here. After all, he agreed with their mission, and he had faith. He could imagine working here in the archives. Coming home to his companions and Avli. Healing people on weekends and maybe evenings.

But he knew it wasn’t that simple. While the archbishop may accept his intricate relationship with Dean and Cas—mostly because of the involvement of an angel—the others didn’t even know about it. He couldn’t imagine it would go well, regardless of how progressive this rung of the Catholic church claimed to be. The specifics wouldn’t matter. His value as a researcher would be ignored. They’d ostracize him, if not attack him directly. They only liked him now because of how little they knew. He neither expected his newfound comrades to accept him nor did he think they would.

He might— _might_ —get away with it if no one knew Dean was his brother, but as far as he could tell, that was all they knew about him. Sam had a brother named Dean… who lived with him and an angel. What they did and did not know otherwise was a mystery. He didn’t mention anything in relation to them, except to confirm that Cas really was of heavenly origin.

As a result, his research felt a little lonely at times. He saw the others talk about their families and hobbies. They even tried to include him occasionally. But Sam acted like studying the texts and healing were his only goals in life. As far as they knew, he was celibate. And he didn’t bring up Avli, either.

The openness he craved in everyday life couldn’t extend to these quiet libraries. But he told himself he could have it the moment he went home. So, he kept his time at the archdiocese down to a few hours per trip. Cas or Dean or both would be waiting for him when he got home. And he loved that more than dusty books.

***

Cas relished the time he got to spend with Avli and the Winchesters. It felt like their life in Philly, but even better. He was surrounded by a loving family. And he didn’t hate having Rosa there with them.

He adored everything about it. From making breakfast daily to taking long nature walks with _his daughter_ , it was perfect. He never felt bored or overwhelmed. Just the right amount of contentment and happiness. Long conversations. Needed but not strenuous daily chores. Nights in bed with the people he loved. Hell, he even got to know one of their neighbors, an elderly Korean woman who kept a garden that rivaled their own. Like most grandmothers—and she _was_ a grandmother to at least ten children—she always had hard candy in her purse, and she absolutely spoiled Avli whenever she saw her.

With everything going for him, Cas could almost forget the looming appointment in front of him. When the day came, it was a warm morning in May. He dressed a little more casual than his last trip to the archdiocese. Still a business shirt, but he left a couple buttons undone, rolled up the sleeves a few inches, and abandoned the tie. Slacks were still a must, and he ran a comb through his hair. He packed a lunch and bid farewell to Avli, telling her he would be gone for most of the day. He would have told her to behave for Dean, her primary guardian today, but that wasn’t necessary. She was always a delight. She didn’t even like arguments.

Rosa planned to fly them in but decided to take the car at the last minute. Best to save her energy. She wasn’t invited to the board meeting, but she planned to stick around for it, either by seeming busy or actually investigating the power reserves. Sam tagged along for the free ride, but he planned to go straight to the archives, and leave early via a quick flight from the witch. There was no telling how long the engagement would last—however long they wanted, Cas guessed. It might even go onto a second day, according to Micah, but he hoped it wouldn’t. He just wanted to get it over with.

Upon arrival, it became clear that not even the young priest was allowed in for the proceedings. He and Rosa quickly struck up a conversation while Cas timidly went inside.

The place was a bit like a small courtroom, with two rows of people sitting in an elevated, curved box. Most were men of varying ethnicities, but there were three women, too, all dressed like nuns but of differently styled attire. Emmanuel was on the left edge, one of only a handful of men without cardinal status. Cas silently wondered if he was allowed on the board as a sort of finder’s fee. There were also two men who didn’t appear to be clergy. One was probably a lawyer and the other might be a stenographer. Apart from the archbishop, there were no other familiar faces.

He sat down in a leather chair behind a heavy wooden table. There was a grouping of chairs behind him, meant for an audience, but no other people were allowed in. He pulled a single piece of notebook paper out from his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the desk. A pitcher full of water and a glass sat nearby, so he poured himself some. He cleared his throat and leaned into a small microphone. “Hello, I’m Castiel. I’m an angel.”

The group introduced themselves. They were from every corner of the world. Some didn’t speak English very well and wore headsets so that they could understand Cas. He silently noted the accents he recognized. He would speak their languages if they specifically asked him a question. (It would make him seem more powerful, anyway.) All of the people before him were members of the choir—no surprise there—and all seemed equal parts giddy and nervous to be speaking to him. He didn’t really try to remember their names.

The initial questions were all basic facts. How old was he? Hundreds of thousands of years. What was he made of? Energy. What did he look like outside of his body? Invisible to the human eye, but something like a wave of light with wings and changing attributes based on what was needed. Glowing internal parts. LED lights behind dirty glass. Why this body? He retold the story of his punishment, in as little detail as possible. He wasn’t inhabiting someone else’s body like most angels did. This one legitimately belonged to him.

Why did he rebel?

Why, indeed. In hindsight, Dean might’ve played a role. But it was more about not knowing his situation well enough. It was about looking around and feeling attached to his life. It was about not wanting to be a soldier any longer. He gave a less personal answer. He needed time to think, but that in itself was an act of rebellion, and before he could make it right, the war had already begun.

They asked for details about the battle, but he didn’t have many to give. Most of it happened behind the scenes. Other angels did the work, using him as a rallying cry. He didn’t want to fight his own kind. He only did so when they attacked him and his friends.

He outlined the current status of the other angels. He explained the weapons used. He listed off a few names of standard angels that he hoped were still alive, treating Balthazar like just another angel instead of a close friend. He mentioned Melchior specifically, stating that he believed he was still around. Cas explained that power from Yemaya was used to end the battle, but lied and said he didn’t know how. With his fingers interlaced over his notes, he related a handful of relevant stories about his involvement. He said that God hadn’t run Heaven in a very long time, and thus the war was about management, not fighting a higher power.

As time went on, they wanted to know more about the world in which they lived. But he had to disappoint them. Explaining that much of his knowledge was lost when he decided to stay in a human form, he could only answer their questions in bits and pieces. He was able to tell them about the Kingdom, though, and about certain points in history influenced by angels—like the leveling of a town that got him punished in the first place because he hesitated to do it.

Eventually, the group asked about why and how he’d given the healing power to Sam. They wanted to know if he could do it again, and if so would he, and were there any other things he could make humans do? He smiled at the question, because it spoke volumes about how little they actually knew. He was careful about his response.

“It can only be given once,” he explained. “And I no long have the ability. I used to heal myself and others. Now Sam can.”

When asked why he would give such a thing away, he only smiled wider. “Humans have a greater sense of compassion than any angel ever could, myself included. Sam, more than most. He cares for other people. He deserves the ability to help them, and it makes him happy.”

“But why him?” asked a man from Brazil.

“Ele me ajudou,” he replied in Portuguese. _He helped me_. When they asked if he’d given anything else away, he nodded. This was a risk, but he wanted to own it. “I gave my wings to Dean Winchester.”

A wave of whys met his ears.

“Selfish reasons. I wanted to be more like a human. And I wanted him to be safer. Moreover, I couldn’t keep all of myself inside this body. Giving up the wings allowed me to stay here.” He took a drink of water. “He can’t use them the way I did. He doesn’t see himself fly. But if he can picture a different location he’s been to before, he can go there with a thought. It’s saved his life and others on numerous occasions.”

After a few more questions on angel abilities, and the inevitable inquiry as to how he could physically give up pieces of himself—he likened it to an organ transplant—the board adjourned for lunch. Before he could get up to stretch his legs, Emmanuel was at his side. “You failed to mention your relationship with them,” he accused in a low voice.

“What would that accomplish?” he asked in return, without looking at him. “Do you really want me to explain it? Because I can. But it may jeopardize what you’re hoping they take away from this. And to be honest, I’d prefer the privacy.” And he knew Sam would, too, just this one time. While on the other hand, Dean didn’t care for once. He didn’t give a shit what these “religious nutjobs” thought of them, nor did he particularly want to continue a working relationship with them.

Continuing, “I don’t love them any less. And you’re right to suggest that love was a major factor in all of this. It was. It absolutely was. I did it because I love them But do they really need to know about it?”

It was a long time before he answered. “No.”

“They wanna know about angels. That’s why I’m here. I’ll tell them about angels.”

With a reluctant nod, Emmanuel let him be for the remainder of the break. Cas unwrapped a brown paper bag to reveal his simple lunch: a small sandwich, an apple, a bag of neon orange-colored chips, and a can of soda. He systematically made his way through it and tried to think of nothing else.

Outside, Rosa was about two hours into a strange conversation with Micah, whereupon she discovered that the kid wasn’t really interested in being a priest. While he didn’t hate it, he didn’t feel like it was his calling, either. He took the role because he was, like many of the people here, part of a family with multiple members in the group. Essentially, he had to fulfil a legacy. He’d been pressured into it. He looked more like the type to be a programmer or an intern on Capitol Hill.

And by the amount of times he looked at her chest, albeit somewhat subtly, it seemed that being celibate wasn’t in line with his interests, either. He didn’t openly hit on her—thank God, since she was more than a decade his senior—but he was noticeably uncomfortable by being this close. There weren’t a lot of women in the diocese except during services, and the ones that were wanted nothing to do with men. And Rosa wasn’t exactly unattractive either. She knew how to take care of herself, and the blouse she wore today was about half an inch more revealing than her last few ones. A helpful accident.

An aroused man usually talked a lot, especially one that wanted to avoid appearing aroused. So, she gradually prodded him for information on the energy pools, specifically the two major ones that were within Seattle’s jurisdiction but weren’t under churches. He said they literally went out into the bay on a boat, once every two days or so, weather permitting, to check the protections. As for Olympic? Well, they actually had some guys who worked for the park service. While the location was remote, they hiked out there every week to check on it. Thankfully, Micah said, the area was difficult to get to, so they’d never had any problems.

Yet.

Rosa made sure to smile and laugh when appropriate. She sat somewhat close to him on a wooden bench in a hall adjacent to the room where Cas was being interviewed. She even touched his arm once. A little flirtation never heart, she thought, and it wasn’t like she had to worry about this kid attacking her or anything. Even without her powers, she could take him. And as far as she could tell, he wasn’t one of the people here practicing the special prayers (that were obviously just veiled magic spells). He was more of an assistant to Emmanuel, and she got the impression that they might even be distantly related.

Back in the room, Cas finished his lunch and prepared for the next round of questioning.


	41. Smoke on the Water

The hierarchies and different species of angel became particularly interesting to them. He used the magi as a good example, since they practically worshipped Melchior. Magi were more independent, and they were allowed more “personality” than the others. What Balthazar could say and do versus Cas differed greatly, despite the latter being technically stronger and more important before he rebelled. The only reason they even knew each other was because Bal got assigned to Cas’s garrison, since the magi’s real job of dealing with Earth/Heaven relations afforded them a lot of free time.

Cas outlined all of the different roles angels had and the general structure of the Kingdom prior to the war. He couldn’t speak much on it afterwards except to describe the human Heaven, which remained unchanged. He went further to explain that souls belonged to certain jurisdictions, depending on which god created them and what religion, if any, the person believed. Anyone born to Christian or Muslim parents that converted to Zoroastrianism, for instance, would not go to Abrahamic Heaven or Hell but cross the Chinvat Bridge instead. Atheists automatically experienced the afterlife associated with the deity that made their souls. They were not robbed of eternal life just because they didn’t have faith.

These truths were not determined by any one god. It was the natural order—a phrase he heard them use quite a few times. It was a function of the universe, or at least of this planet. The Abrahamic God was not all-powerful. He could not steal souls from other Gods even if he wanted to, and he did not create all life. It was a group effort, and nature had the biggest role of all.

The board found these revelations to be inconvenient for the church, but since everything was in secret, it didn’t matter. Their findings would only be shared amongst themselves and with the Pope. As such, they didn’t fight him on anything or try and dispute what he said. He could have taken far more liberties than he did as a result. But he kept things as truthful as possible, with some major omissions about himself and his family.

Throughout, he made sure they knew that he still had an important role in the world, as an informant and powerful creature. He would always be valuable to them, always have more to contribute. Because of that, he and his friends needed to be safeguarded. That was the exchange for his testimony. Protection. They didn’t know it, but he planted the seeds in their minds in regards to his importance.

The day wrapped up without a sequel in mind, but with a request to meet with him again, should they have more questions. He agreed. By the time he left the room, it was past dinner. He and Rosa stopped at a fast food place to get some burgers. They sat in the parking lot, munching away on beef and French fries.

“So, how was _your_ day?” Cas asked, trying not to speak with food in his mouth.

Rosa snorted. With a fry dangling from her fingers, “I spent half the time talking to Micah.”

“Oh?”

“Guy does _not_ wanna be a pal of Saint George. Seems like it’s kinda a birthright or a family quota or something. If you’re a male in certain families, you either gotta become clergy or have babies who can become clergy.” She sighed. “Kept looking at my tits.”

Cas burst out laughing. It took all the willpower he had not to accidentally spit food all over the car. “Please tell me you’re not gonna—”

“No!” she shouted. “Absolutely not. Skinny white kids aren’t my type.” If she even had a type, he certainly wouldn’t be it. “Though I gotta say, with that uniform…”

“Oh God.”

“I’m sure he’d be saying that a lot.”

He shoved her shoulder only somewhat gently. “Stop!”

“It was funny, though. He got so frazzled.” She took a long gulp of soda. “Speaking of which, your favorite trauma patient asked me to pick up some herbal medicine for him.”

“You didn’t, did you? We don’t know what any of that stuff will do with his actual medications. I mean, we’d have to research all of it, and dosage could be a problem, and—”

But she cut him off. “No, not like valerian root or something. He asked me to get him some pot.”

“What?!”

It wouldn’t be the first time Dean got high, but he hadn’t done it at all since the three of them got together. Cas had tried it once in high school but just got a headache. Sam hated the smell, and they didn’t need the extra police attention. But it was one of many coping mechanisms Dean had as a teenager. It helped him relax. And apparently, he laughed at everything when he smoked. A helpful trait in the very serious world that the brothers had to endure.

“Yeah, he wants to smoke up.” She reached into her bag and produced a small plastic bag about a quarter of the way full. Dangling it in the air, “You could probably do it with him. Might be fun.” She laughed. “Won’t work on Sam, though, unfortunately.”

He shook his head. “That stuff could interact with his meds, too.”

“Maybe. I guess you’d have to look into it. I’m not here to mommy him. He’s an adult. And he’s not drinking, per doctor’s orders. I figure it can’t be much different from the Xanax, except he might have fun instead of just passing out.” She put the stuff away. “Look, you three could have a meeting about it or whatever it is you do when one of you wants to make a decision, or you could just let him do it for himself. Make sure he’s okay and doesn’t try to drive or anything.”

Before he could make an obvious point, she continued. “I’m sure he would never do it around Avli, and especially not when he’s looking after her. If I have to, I can take him to California so he doesn’t smoke in the house.”

The muscles in Cas’s neck felt stiff. He narrowed his eyes and squinted into the sunset. “Does he even have a pipe or anything?”

She snickered and wadded up the wrapper to her burger. “He doesn’t. But I do—usually for things a lot stronger than pot. It’s a fancy wooden one. If he doesn’t wanna use it, I also got him rolling papers. I just hope I didn’t get some weak shit.”

“This is a terrible idea,” he groaned.

“So what? You’re alive again. Live a little. Or at least let Dean do it.” Rosa handed him the fast food bag so he could have the last of the fries. She started the car and began driving toward home. “You’ve had a long day. You should smoke with him. Make it a date or something. I think it’ll help.”

“Maybe.”

***

When they finally got home, Cas pocketed the items from Rosa before greeting Avli with a big hug. He asked her about her day, and she explained that her and Dean spent a lot of time coloring before going for a walk. It apparently rained during that time. The girl thought Dean’s expression at getting wet was hilarious. As for his lover, Cas asked the usual parenting questions. Did everything go well? Did Avli have dinner? Was she easy to deal with? Yes, of course, was the answer to all his inquiries.

The group spent the evening watching an old movie about dogs and a cat trying to get back home. It was an old favorite from Sam’s childhood that their daughter absolutely loved. It had sad points, so there were a few not-so-dry eyes in the room, but a happy ending.

After, Dean continued his nightly role of story reading before retiring. Sam stayed up a little while, going over his notes for the day. But Cas met the older Winchester in their room. He closed the door and held up the baggy.

From the bed, Dean’s eyes widened. “I was going to tell you,” he said sheepishly. It was true, and he strongly wished it’d been him instead of Rosa.

“I know.” He smiled. “I’m not upset.”

“Really?”

“Really. If you think this will help you feel better, then I’m for it,” he said definitively. “But, I have one request. I want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or something like that. And I, uh—I want to join you.”

Dean’s jaw dropped open, but he quickly grinned. “You better not be fucking with me.”

Shaking his head, Cas moved over to the bed and climbed on. He pulled out the paper from his pocket. Reaching into the nightstand, he produced a small lighter they occasionally used for candles and handed everything over to his companion.  “I hope you know how to do this, because I don’t.”

He laughed. Though a grinder would’ve been ideal, a sewing needle (also found in the nightstand), would be sufficient in pulling apart the plant material so that it would work in a joint. It’d been a long time, but he still knew how. Like riding a bike. After a couple minutes, he had a pretty decent one made, licking the edge of the paper and twisting the ends so it would stay closed. He offered the package to Cas first but the angel waved it away.

“You first.”

With the joint hanging from his mouth, “Suit yourself.” He lit it, took a heavy inhale, and held his breath. Dean repeated the task twice more. He coughed, but it turned into a laugh. “Holy shit.”

He passed it off to Cas, who looked at the thing dubiously. But he’d already committed to this, long before he entered the room. With a sigh, he took a hit. As a younger man, he had a regular smoking habit. It took locking himself in his room for a weekend to kick tobacco, and he never looked back after. But he didn’t forget how to smoke for optimal nicotine intake. The only difference here was that he held the smoke in a little longer. Like a pro, he didn’t even cough. He did it once more, this time showing off by breathing out the smoke a little before inhaling it again.

Dean watched him with increasing amusement. And arousal. As they passed the homemade cigarette back and forth, he could feel his cheeks getting red. Cas’s eyes had a certain glaze to them. Both couldn’t stop smiling. Eventually, they couldn’t continue without burning their hands, meaning he would have to make another one or stop. They chose the latter, since neither had any tolerance, and the stuff seemed fairly strong.

The two laid down next to each other. Cas touched Dean’s face and kissed him, which elicited a snicker. “You are high as shit,” the angel accused.

He laughed. “So are you!”

“Well obviously.” Cas tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t. His whole body just felt _happy_. His brain was fogged—hyper-focused and disinterested in the world at the same time. While his chest hurt a little from the hot smoke, it didn’t really bother him. He kissed Dean again. “You ever have sex on this stuff?”

Dean bit down on one of the knuckles of his own index finger. “No, but I’d love to try.”

With that, Cas kissed him deeply. He didn’t stop escalating things until his own shirt and slacks were off, and Dean was in a similar situation. His partner took the lead after that, moving his mouth down Cas’s chest. Then his stomach. Then lower. The inevitable gasp he let out when Dean’s tongue touched him—it was beyond wonderful.

His lover worked for a while there, bringing him closer and closer to climax. Easily. The drug helped intensify the enjoyment like Cas’d never experienced before. Usually so in control, he had to work not to moan loudly as Dean gripped the outsides of his thighs.

Before he could come, Dean reluctantly stopped, knowing his partner would want a more extended exchange. He flipped onto his back and pulled Cas on top of him. They kissed, and the angel could taste himself on Dean’s lips. He rummaged through the nearby drawer, applied some more than necessary gel to himself and to his lover, before guiding him inside. Sitting up, it took expertise to get the angle right, but Cas managed it. He moved himself up and down while straddling him, essentially doing all the work.

But Dean wasn’t content just to lay there, no matter how good it felt. With one hand, he latched onto Cas’s hip, and with the other, he took hold of him and ran his hands along the length, felt how hard and hot he was. Whichever way his angel got off, he planned to help.

To be honest, it wouldn’t be long for either of them. The chemicals in their systems brought them both near the apex long before their usual, but just as the pleasure increased, their concerns decreased. So what if they ended things early? So long as they both—and there it was. Dean’s combined efforts, along with the internal stimulation, prevented him from going any longer. He came into Dean’s capable hands.

But he wasn’t done yet. With his partner so close, he continued his rhythmic movements and increased the speed. Sweat beaded on his skin.

It took a few more minutes than expected to get him there, but when he did? It was the best organism Dean ever had. Cas clenched his muscles to optimize his companion’s ecstasy before finally releasing him and collapsing at his side. They looked at each other and laughed. “Holy fuck,” was all Dean could say. Then, eventually, “I love you.”

Cas smiled wide and closed his eyes. “That good, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“We should do this again,” he breathed. “I mean, not right now, but… soon.”

Dean nodded. Kissing him, “How ‘bout a shower?”

***

By the time Sam joined them, Dean was out like a light. The long day, combined with pot, sensual exercise, and a small amount of Xanax from earlier, made certain he wouldn’t be conscious for a few hours. Cas was getting there, too.

“What the hell? You guys got high?!”

The angel gently shushed his lover and motioned for him to come closer. When he did, Cas touched his cheek. “It was pretty fun,” he admitted in a whisper. “Never done that before.” After a few moments, “Don’t be mad. I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy since the Kingdom.”

Sam’s disdain melted. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We kinda—used it to enhance things.” He chuckled. “It was nice. I know it might not work for you, but we could try it sometime if you want.”

The healer smiled but shook his head. “Nahh, I tried it a few times, just to know. It wasn’t my thing. I got really paranoid. And I don’t think that would make for very good bed conversation.” He moved over to one of the windows and opened it a crack to let out some of the marijuana smell. “I’m glad you guys got something out of it, at least.”

“Dean needed it.”

Sam returned to his side, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into bed. “You both did. Not everything has to be just about him,” he pointed out. “You’ve been working so hard, and then the testimony thing must’ve been difficult. You deserve some TLC just as much as he does.”

Cas wrapped his arms around him and kissed him deeply. It was always nice to be acknowledged, and Sam usually knew when to do it. “What about you?”

“Maybe tomorrow night.” He genuinely looked tired, despite having not used his healing power in a while. A quick look at the clock revealed why: it was almost two in the morning. “It hasn’t been just us two in a while.”

The angel nodded and kissed him again. “You got it.”

***

Life got in the way for a week or so. Cas’s interview caused some serious tensions within Saint George’s Choir, and probably the Catholic church in general. There were whispers of him being a false prophet or something sent by Lucifer to derail the church’s plans. The Seattle branch’s reputation hung in the balance, so they mobilized to set the record straight. Still, it meant more meetings. More stress. They let Sam continue his work, but he was monitored more closely. Cas was “asked” to give a short video-taped explanation of who and what he was, which featured any information that might help prove it.

He didn’t expect to be back so soon, or to be under such intense scrutiny. He fumbled his way through the recording, trying only to keep his facts straight. He explained that his major abilities were given to the Winchesters so he could become more like a human, but he could still move things a little—a fraction of the power Rosa used to light up her sword and toss assailants through the air. He demonstrated on a stack of quarters and a can of soda.

His knowledge of things from the distant past and detailed descriptions of the Kingdom were what really saved him. Eventually, the video calmed the hearts of the board members’ constituents enough for them to return home.

The whole situation drained everyone.

Well, except Rosa, who decided to spend some time in Olympic National Park—trying to find the origin point of the loosely guarded energy pool. She started going every other day. Sometimes she brought Avli along, as it was only a scouting mission at the moment. Cas objected, but the girl pretty much _needed_ time with nature, and he couldn’t provide it while preoccupied with the archdiocese. Nor could Sam, who was still busy, or Dean, who wrestled with drowsiness from one of his newest medications.

He promised Avli that she could go to the park to talk to Earth, so he made Rosa swear to take perfect care of her when they went. Cas had no doubt she would. He just didn’t like her reason for going.

On the plus side, the little one stopped referring to him as “Mr. Castiel.” She just called him “Cas” now. He hadn’t spoken to her about it—preferring to let her decide what she wanted him to be—but it just came out one day while they were watching another movie. She just asked for a glass of water. It was that simple. And from then on, it was only “Cas.” Later in the week, she dropped the honorifics for Dean and Sam, too, but kept “Miss Rosa.”

Cas silently hoped that maybe he’d be “dad” one day, but he certainly wasn’t going to make Avli say it. She had a hard-enough time so far without that kind of pressure. And anyway, they hadn’t known each other for that long. Just over half a year.

Still, he would play the role even if she never wanted to call him that. People shouldn’t parent a child expecting anything in return. That wasn’t the point. The goal was simply to bring a kid safely into adulthood, to nurture and encourage growth. To love them. He was more than prepared to provide everything she needed. A warm meal or a life lesson or just some time in the garden. Whatever it took.

Between taking care of her and dealing with the archdiocese, Cas had very little energy for anything else. Twice, he fell asleep on the couch and had to be woken by Rosa so she could make up her own bed. And when he did get upstairs? He was out before either of the Winchesters. Even with things slowly getting better at the church, they kept calling him over minor details. They wouldn’t accept phone answers. Everything had to be part of an official record. He had no idea this arrangement would be so all-consuming.

Even if Cas could handle the workload, Sam seemed to be in a similar position. Though he didn’t say it directly, it seemed he was increasingly uncomfortable amongst the archival staff. Too many questions probably, or perhaps they didn’t really trust him with their books. Regardless, the job he enjoyed was now difficult for him. It emotionally exhausted the healer, and it caused frustration. Cas tried to comfort him with what little energy he had, but he couldn’t keep his promise of a romantic session. At least not for a little while.

For now, they just slept in the same bed as their main form of closeness.


	42. Breathe

Dean was on his third antidepressant, and it made him groggy pretty much all the time. Taking Xanax only made it worse. Pot would be fun for half an hour or so, but then he would get the same result: passing out or at least taking a short nap. A grown man needing to nap seemed not only wrong but embarrassing. He hated it. He wanted to stop with all the pills.

But both of his lovers reminded him that it would take time to find the right medicine. One made him puke. One didn’t do much at all, including help him. And now this one made him feel constantly drowsy. At least he didn’t have trouble sleeping at night, though it certainly hurt his sex life as a result.

He returned to the doctor’s office for yet another change in prescription. While starting the new one, he would have to slowly ween off of the old. If he didn’t, he could go through withdrawal. Everything from feeling like he had the flu to a violent return of all his symptoms. Theoretically, he could just stop taking the third one (Paxil) slowly, as the doc directed, and then never take the fourth (Wellbutrin). But he would be letting Sam and Cas down. They were working so hard, and all they expected of him was to try and get better. So, he had to try.

Though she didn’t even really know what was going on, Avli had an important role in this, too. He spent way more time with her than he ever thought he would. He needed to be the best person he could be to help raise her. What he performed amounted to basically just babysitting, but some days, the girl spent more time with him than anyone else. Her personal development was in his hands.

He took to reading educational things to her on occasion, in preparation for either starting to homeschool her—a daunting prospect—or to enroll her in school somewhere here in Seattle, starting in the Fall. He obviously favored the latter, and even imagined dropping her off every morning. Sam helping with her homework. Cas packing her lunches. If it really did take a village to raise a child, they certainly had one ready to do it.

Sam was thinking some charter school, while Dean favored public. Cas considered homeschooling a viable option, but he really wasn’t sure what would be best. They had a stack of admission forms from the local elementary school, along with four private places. Homeschooling, however, would allow Avli to spend more time with nature, and it would hide her eccentricities—like whispering to an “invisible friend”—from both authorities and cruel children. It would, however, isolate her from other kids. She deserved to have real friends.

But would she even want them? She was besties with the whole planet.

That much was clear to everyone, but especially Rosa, the not-so-silent fourth voice in the education argument. She thought homeschooling was the only appropriate avenue, since all the girl ever wanted to do was be in nature in some way. And she learned so much from it, both in practice and by talking with Earth. All other studies could and perhaps should be secondary.

On their most recent walk, the witch took the time to explain what various plants were called and whether or not they could be used in medicine or spells. Avli listened intently, occasionally repeating the names back to her or asking a few questions. She seemed only loosely interested in Rosa’s magic, as though it were part of a story being read to her. Even the mystical world didn’t quite entertain or concern her as much as dirt and trees. For instance, she got upset when she saw one of the latter covered in carvings from unsavory tourists. Rosa had to convince the girl that the tree would be okay in order for her to leave its side.

“Why would somebody do that?” she asked in a sad voice.

“Some people don’t understand trees. They think they aren’t really hurting them when they do that stuff.” Rosa had long since accepted many of Avli’s viewpoints about nature, since she had no reason to doubt them. “Since the trees can’t tell them, they just don’t know how mean they’re being. Some people aren’t very smart. Not like we are.” She decided to go with that angle then to imply that some people were just assholes. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Avli had such a pleasant view of life. The witch didn’t want to ruin it.

She sniffed. “Somebody should tell them not to do that.”

“If we see anyone being mean like that, we’ll stop them,” Rosa insisted. She might not be the best at dealing with a kid, but she imagined a promise might make her feel a little better.

It did. “Okay, Miss Rosa.”

They walked for three hours that day. She brought a picnic-style lunch and they ate it at around the two-hour mark. There were no signs of magical energy, or the protection thereof, on this route, as with all the others. But it wasn’t a loss in the slightest. The girl was happy, and she did speak to Earth on multiple occasions. Rosa had only one request this time. Where was the energy?

At first, the answer was a simple “here,” but she pressed for a more specific response. “At the base of a big mountain, next to running water,” was also fairly nonspecific, given how many of both existed in the park. Finally, a request for the names proved successful. “Mount Claywood. The Lost River. Near the pass.”

Rosa was so happy, she picked up the girl and spun her around, resulting in laughter on Avli’s part.

A close look at a map of the park showed that, more than likely, the place in question could be accessed first by a main path and then by an old trail once used by Native Peoples. Because of course it was. They probably employed the energy in spells none too different from her own or even from the ones the church utilized. Especially its apparent healing power. She could imagine groups bringing their sick loved ones there and either curing them or hoping to do so.

She should have asked Earth sooner, but she didn’t know what she would do when she found it. Tired of waiting, Rosa could hold off no longer. Now that she found the spot, she needed to decide how to get there. She could fly part of the way, but she’d probably miss the exact location if she didn’t follow the trails. Mountains and rivers tended to look pretty similar. Especially with only a few seconds to look at them.

Walking would make more sense. But she wasn’t a nature survival expert or even that big of a hiker. It would take time and preparation to get there. Thankfully, once done, she could just leave in a few seconds.

The duo returned home in relatively high spirits. Now, the hard part would begin.

***

Cas noticed Rosa’s change in mood immediately. He knew that she’d found what she was looking for, in one way or another. And his suspicions were further confirmed when she stopped taking regular walks, and instead remained inside except to gather supplies—and go jogging with Sam in the morning. That was not even remotely her usual lifestyle. She didn’t do much of anything in terms of exercise unless it served an ulterior motive. Unsurprisingly, it took several tries before she could even hope to keep up with the healer.

Stamina was the end goal. Wherever she would be going, she needed to be in shape to get there.

He couldn’t be bothered to try and stop her. It wouldn’t solve anything. He only warned that she would jeopardize all of them if she got caught, so she better not be. And that Avli wouldn’t, under any circumstances, be involved in the act. Rosa assured him of both things, and said that she would be gone before anyone even knew she’d accessed the power.

Sam seemed to appreciate the morning company, regardless of the reason, as he usually exercised alone. Dean never did, even when he had the energy, and Cas simply didn’t like sweating. And anyway, his mornings were spent getting Avli ready for the day, cooking or preparing breakfast, and prepping himself for more time spent at the archdiocese.

Except today delivered a welcome reprieve. His answers finally satisfied the clergy, and he was freed of his commitment by noon. On his way out, he stopped by the archive to see if Sam wanted to leave early. He arrived mid-way through an argument between his lover and Vergel, over an alleged violation of Sam’s privacy. Apparently, his notes disappeared for about an hour this morning, and he suspected it was a clerk under the employ of the head archivist. Since Sam had been assured his research would not be scrutinized—though he was careful what he wrote anyway—this violated the deal. It was unacceptable.

“I didn’t misplace them. I didn’t leave them anywhere. I got up to get a different volume, and my whole notebook was gone. And now it’s back. So, who the hell took it, Vergel? The only people here are your employees and me. You haven’t even had any new requests for access in weeks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man retorted. It sounded like a lie to Cas. “No one here would take your things.”

Sam shoved his stuff into a backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Not my things, Vergel. My notes. You wanted to look at them, so you took them. Simple as that.” He swiveled and saw Cas waiting by the door. He gave a nod of acknowledgement. Turning back, “I was promised that I would not be disturbed. But you’ve had people watching my every move, and now this?! I don’t think you want my help.”

“Of course we do.”

“Then act like it! I deserve respect, and stealing is a mortal sin, Vergel. You might wanna remember that.” He walked toward Cas and patted his upper arm. “I’m taking some time off. If and when I come back, I expect things to be different, or this arrangement won’t work. I’ll discuss it with Emmanuel if I have to.”

And possibly get the old man fired.

Sam didn’t hate Vergel, but he despised how he was being treated—how intrusive these people were. They wanted the work he did, but they didn’t want to let him do it freely. They were worried he’d find something they didn’t want found, and as such they viewed him as a threat. This fact made a normally gentle man into a paranoid asshole, and it made Sam miserable.

Without waiting for a retort, he rushed through the door with Cas in tow. They didn’t say anything further until they reached the car. Getting in, the angel shot him a look of sympathy. “

“That sounded rough.”

He nodded. “They’ve been spying on me for a while now, but I didn’t think they’d actually go through my shit. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Cas kissed him softly before driving out of the parking lot. “We’re unusual for them, to say the least. They’re afraid of us. Both of us. And if they’re not afraid of Rosa, they probably should be. It’s inconvenient now, but maybe we can use it to our advantage later. I dunno. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

With a sigh, Sam ran the back of his hand along Cas’s cheek. “You had pretty good timing.” His hand drifted down to the angel’s leg.

The angel smiled but kept his eyes on the road. “I think they’ve gotten tired of me.”

“Fuck that. I can’t believe anyone would get tired of you.”

His smile got bigger. “You’re sweet.”

“I mean it, Cas. Anyone who finds you boring doesn’t actually know you.” He leaned in and kissed his shoulder. Keeping hold of Cas’s upper thigh, “Not like I do.”

He blushed. “You’re biased.”

“I’m right.”

When they got home, it was to an empty house—a welcome surprise. Dean had apparently taken Avli to go see some kids’ movie in a local theater, and they planned to get ice cream after. The two wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. Rosa was staking out various ranger stations in the park to try and decide the best one for beginning her hike, whenever she finally felt comfortable enough to undertake it. And since it wasn’t around midnight, Sam and Cas still had some energy. The former needed to blow off steam, and he knew exactly how he wanted to do it.

The moment he knew for sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. Sam cashed in his rain check. He grabbed Cas and pushed him up against a wall, adjacent to the stairs. The angel made a sound of surprise but he grinned and wrapped his arms around him.

A sudden burst of mild aggressiveness wasn’t unusual for them. And it didn’t actually foretell anything about how they would end up entangled. In fact, Cas strongly suspected it would go the other way soon, with him taking control at Sam’s request. That’s how he liked it, most of the time. But for now, he was happy to be on the receiving end.

The healer gripped him by the wrist and pinned it above his head. He kissed him dramatically, pushing his tongue deep into Cas’s mouth. Already turned on, he pressed into him as his free hand ran up and down the angel’s torso.

But as soon as he began the veraciousness, it faded. His grip loosened, and he pulled away enough to look at him. He was so incredibly smitten. Cas brought his hand down and touched Sam’s cheek. He kissed him softly. “I don’t mind,” he insisted, just to make sure the man wasn’t stopping because of the roughness. He really didn’t. What they did was always pretty tame in comparison to half the shit he once had to roleplay with clients, and he’d personally gotten far kinkier with past partners. He found happiness in every type of sexual interaction with Sam and Dean, and he could take it just as easily as he could dish it out

“No, I know. It’s just—”

“Oh.” He grinned. With a step, he wriggled out from under Sam, grabbed him by both shoulders, and pushed him against the wall. It took a little more force on his part, simply because of how much taller his lover was. Still, he got the job done. Craning his neck upward, he stopped with his lips just half an inch away from Sam’s. “Tell me what you want… Beg.”

Sam hesitated and then smiled wide. “Anything?”

“Anything you want.”

“Choke me.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. He pulled away a little to make sure he was serious. That was a new one. Hair pulling, biting, pushing, and other general roughness were all standard procedure when they were together. But chocking? _Breath control play_ , technically, but he hated that phrase. It was an attempt at controlled suffocation. In the wrong hands, a person could get killed trying shit like that. Hell, even in the right ones, accidents happened a lot. Sure, the people who lived thought that it was the best orgasm achievable but—

At once, the angel knew the reasoning behind Sam’s request. He wanted to experience the best possible orgasm, not unlike the ones his companions enjoyed on pot. And he already liked being submissive with Cas. And he trusted him. If anyone could do it correctly, it was their resident expert on pleasure and sex.

He did know how. He’d studied it, read about it, so that he could accurately describe it to clients who were into that sort of thing. But he’d never done it before. Not to a one-night-stand, any boyfriends, or either of the Winchesters. And he hadn’t signed up for receiving it either. He found the whole thing far too dangerous, especially in a world where sex once made him feel vulnerable.

Slowly, he reached up to Sam’s throat and rested a hand there for a moment. But he took it away and shook his head. “It’s not safe.”

But Sam didn’t back down. He picked up Cas’s hand and put it back on his neck. “You can’t really hurt me, remember?” He kissed the angel’s forehead, near his hair line. “Please? I promise we can stop if you get worried.”

He was already worried.

Cas bit into his lower lip while he assessed the situation. Sam was probably right. Massive blood loss couldn’t kill him. The only thing that could, as far as they knew, was himself. He wouldn’t go into cardiac arrest over a little squeezing, and he might not even pass out. And Cas could just go easy on him.

Not too easy.

He lunged forward, crossing what little space remained between them and pressing the healer’s head against the wall by the throat. Sam winced, but his face read pure satisfaction. He never took his eyes off Cas as the angel carefully tightened his grasp. He made sure to feel his pulse as he did so, but it didn’t really speed up beyond what could be expected with arousal, and it certainly didn’t slow down, two possible signs of heart problems.

With his left hand, he undid Sam’s pants and reached in to touch him. The labored gasping he heard could have been from either cause. Probably both. He didn’t let up until Sam’s eyes started to glaze over a little, whereupon he ceased applying any pressure to his throat and let go. The healer coughed and rubbed at his skin, but he grinned from ear to ear. “More?”

Cas motioned that they should go upstairs, just in case. No one needed to walk in on him strangling his lover. Whether they got the wrong idea or not would be irrelevant. Besides, unless they wanted to get going on the couch, there wasn’t a lot they could do here. Not with Cas taking the lead.

Sam stumbled for the first few steps but then he completely recovered—miraculous if not for the healing energy. There wasn’t even any redness. As they climbed the stairs, he turned back to smile down at Cas in the dim lighting. Upstairs, they hesitated only long enough to lock the door. Moments later, Cas pushed Sam on the bed and yanked his pants off. He kept removing articles of their clothing until none remained.

Regardless of roughness, no one would have fun without lubrication. He used just enough to make it work, reaching under his partner for applying. In one fluid motion, Cas climbed on top of him and into him, an act which garnered an even more impressive gasp.

He started with the basics. Heavy thrusting. Arms tied above his head with a scarf. This position wasn’t as optimal for pulling his hair, though Cas took up a clump of it in his fist anyway. While all of these things served to further Sam’s pleasure, there could be no doubt regarding what he really wanted. So, the angel delivered. He started by kissing his neck. Timing it right, his hand moved in, and he began squeezing once more.

In waves, he pressed until Sam could hardly breathe, let him go, watched him recover, and then repeated it all over again. He used only one hand for the task at first, employing the other to lift one of his legs. But as the healer neared climax, Cas switched to both. He put real force behind it. As he pushed himself in and out of him, he tightened his grasp until he felt Sam slipping. He moved to release him, but the man shook his head. Sam was close. So close. While he could technically go any time, he wanted this orgasm to happen naturally.

Seconds later, he came with impressive full-body involvement, and Cas quickly let go of his neck. Wheezing but overjoyed—a strange sight—Sam easily slipped out of his “restraints” and pulled the angel close to him so he could finish, too. It took only a miniscule fraction of his healing power to fix the minor damage inflicted, and the pain involved was welcome. He was still focusing on how great he felt when Cas’s shoulders locked up beneath his touch. In the next instant, he got off, too.

Tired, sweaty, and overwhelmed, the two looked at each other for a moment, both with loose smiles on their faces. Sam kissed him deeply. “You’re amazing.”

They moved to their sides, but never broke eye contact. While Cas didn’t love the idea of causing him pain, obviously his lover wanted it. And to be honest, that was a little hot. The best part, however, came from how much he trusted him. Sure, there was a chance Cas couldn’t really hurt him if he wanted to, but they didn’t know that for certain. So, Sam had to trust that he wouldn’t, that he would take every precaution. His life was in Cas’s hands. He could bring him to the edge of unconsciousness and danger without going over.

That element to their relationship enveloped both of them like a warm blanket. It made them feel safe and comforted. No matter what happened, they could trust each other, trust that they would do anything for each other. This knowledge was even better than any orgasm.

Sam understood that the whole thing made Cas less than thrilled, so it would become a rare request. But oh, did he appreciate it this time. His skin felt electric. He floated inside his own skull. Even the lingering feeling of Cas’s fingers just below his jawline turned him on again. The experience proved so much more wonderful than he could’ve imagined.

The angel brushed some of the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “You’re okay, right?” He had to make sure.

“I’m fine. Seriously. I feel incredible, Cas.” He always made him feel incredible, and he always knew exactly how to do it. Even if they hadn’t dabbled in asphyxiation, he still would’ve ensured that Sam got the absolute most out of their encounter. Cas just functioned that way.

“Good.” If he’d really hurt him, he would never forgive himself.


	43. Over the Mountain

The next day’s trip to the Elkhorn summer ranger station was the easiest part of her journey. The actual hike would be almost thirteen miles of very uneven ground, culminating in the possibility of fording a river. All the way, she would lug a heavy pack full of supplies for both survival and possible magic spells. By her calculations, it could take up to five hours just to get there.

She landed in a wooded area just out of sight of the station. As though nothing was strange, she walked out of the forest and onto the path towards her destination. To anyone who might see her, Rosa looked like a hiker. She had all the right gear and even the standard ugly clothing one might expect to see. Dull colors. Khaki shorts. No patterns or excitement whatsoever. She removed her nail polish, wore minimal makeup, and took off all her jewelry. The process de-aged her, and she looked like a slightly unkempt college student taking a semester off.

It was five miles south before she reached the second trail. By then, the sun climbed high above her. She felt overheated and exhausted. Though all she wanted was to reach the energy, Rosa needed a break. She really wasn’t cut out for all this walking, especially not on uneven ground. She sat in the grass near the side of the trail, took out a bottle of water, and gulped down some. Though she rested for about twenty minutes, and it was a beautiful day, she never once saw another person walk by. People considered the area to be wilderness, and it lay deep inside the park, nestled in a sea of mountains. Maybe it didn’t get much foot traffic in general.

With a groan, she continued the hike in an easterly direction. If she thought the first path was difficult, she immediately took it back. The ridge that served as her trail never once went in a straight line or even close to one. It had more curves and turns than the river below, and it looked gently used at best. Her only comfort came in knowing she probably wouldn’t be seen by anyone.

Her body hated her for the added exercise. Her legs and back hurt, and sweat covered her. The pack felt extra heavy as time went on. She had to keep stopping to drink water or risk getting dizzy and falling. At the three-hour mark, she took a real break, sitting down in the shade to have lunch, stretch her muscles, and relax.

At some point, she dozed off, propped up against the trunk of a tree. When she awoke, it was at least two hours later. She cursed. This wasn’t part of the plan. Frustrated and a little frantic, she scrambled to her feet, collected her things, and started down the trail once more.

It was another hour before she reached the so-called “primitive trail” that led through Lost Pass. It was little more than a rocky area with a marker, but she knew she’d found the right place. Only one existed along her route.

With a gulp, Rosa started carefully northward.

The pass itself consisted of an open area with a field full of flowers. She couldn’t find a decent trail, but she used Sentinel Peak to catch her bearings. Walking toward it for another twenty minutes, Rosa finally reached the river. She bent down and splashed the icy water on her face. It was absolutely freezing. The result of melted snow and underground mountain streams. She looked around to try and find a shallow place to cross, but there wasn’t one. Thankfully, she could see no people either. With a flap of two of her wings, Rosa landed on the opposite bank.

Her surroundings were absolutely gorgeous. The pine forest seemed cut open by the river like a gash. It didn’t taper off at the edges or have a lot of undergrowth, so she could see a fair distance into it. Perhaps as a result, a grand stillness enveloped the rushing water. A buffer between the river and the rest of the world stole the sound and swallowed it. There were a few downed logs on both shores, and moss grew on them. She thought to herself that this was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever been.

And the presence of strong magical energy, just on the peripheral of her senses, heightened that feeling. It sat only a few meters inside the tree line. Unlike at the archdiocese, it looked in her senses like a lake instead of a sphere. Literal pools of power lying in the crevasses and ditches of the forest floor.

The ponds glowed green to her inner eye—as opposed to dark blue for Yemaya and gold for angels. The power backlit the trunks and called out to her. When she finally got close enough for a better look, she saw that the stuff churned on its own, like it was alive. She could see all of it so clearly because the protections were menial. Like a rusty old hatch instead of an airtight container. With a smile, she set down her pack. “Hello, beautiful.”

It didn’t take any of the spells she brought. If Rosa really wanted to, she could use one to prop the door up, steal the energy, and then replace it like nothing happened. But she imagined they must have special devices or people to check if the power was safe. Being careful might delay things a little bit, but it wouldn’t last forever. And the longer she spent here, as lovely as this place was, the more likely she could be discovered. So, she did what she knew best. She readied her ability to push on things and sent a blast at the magical shield.

The door flew off. The protection popped and cracked like fireworks before dispersing completely. Some of the green power spread in her direction for a few feet before stopping. She licked her lips. Walking until the energy lapped at her feet, Rosa closed her eyes and inhaled—with angel lungs. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then the power began to flow into her, starting with the legs and moving upward toward her core.

Energy tended to feel hot or cold to Rosa. Like drinking tea or getting hit with a cool breeze. This one, though, was perfectly neutral. Lukewarm. Identical to her own body temperature. But she felt it all the same. Like having a cobra writhe just beneath her skin. Not painful in this case, but foreign, somewhat like the raw power given by Yemaya.

It wrapped itself around both her angel body and her human soul. In _looked_ at them. As if to decide where it belonged. Did it want to make her more like an angel or more like a human? Technically, by being two halves, she was deficient in both. Earth liked creatures that stayed close to home, but it also hated what humans did to it, hated pollution and mining, death and fire.

In the end, Rosa felt the power choose the human side to make more complete—and she forced it not to. What would having more of a soul add? She already knew every emotion in the playbook quite well. Perhaps things were dulled for her a little in that area, but it only meant that she could be more rational when needed. And the trade-off was immense power. Power strong enough to force the Earth’s energy into repairing her angelic side. It reluctantly obliged, filling in some of the empty places. For the healing spot, a glowing green orb formed, and a green glaze swept over her ability to move things. It felt stronger. More reliable.

Suddenly, the power cut off. Her newfound repairs remained, but she couldn’t draw any more energy. When she looked around, she could see why. There wasn’t any left. Nor evidence it’d ever been there in the first place. She’d read that the places could potentially dry up, but after only one recent use? She hadn’t used that much energy, had she? Powering an archangel required a big battery. Maybe she overloaded or drained it?

Could it recover?

Not likely. She stood there for several minutes but felt nothing. Trying to draw energy more generally from the dirt didn’t do anything either. Disinterested in being seen, she grabbed her bag and took off for home. Now that she knew what the place looked like, she could return later to double check. Though she wasn’t particularly optimistic. If she wanted more energy, she’d have to find it somewhere else.

***

Her new power healed her aches and pains before she ever set foot back in their house. The next morning, she got a chance to try it out on someone else, when Cas accidentally cut himself chopping vegetables for omelets. It wasn’t a big cut. In fact, Sam didn’t even notice that it happened, and he was sitting at a desk in the next room. She grabbed her mentor’s hand and applied pressure with a paper towel. But her practical helpfulness concealed a magical intention—to use him as a test subject for healing.

It didn’t work. She tried asking it to heal him. She tried forcing it. She even tried to match the feeling of being healed. But nothing worked. Covering, “You should be more careful.”

Cas laughed. “What’s gotten into you? It’s just a cut. It’s not even bleeding that much.”

She moved away and shrugged. “Looked like it was worse.”

Overhearing their conversation, Sam drifted into the room. He kissed his companion and quickly fixed the wound. As a reward, he grabbed a piece of bacon before returning to his notes. Cas’s glance lingered on the man in a loving way.

Rosa sat down in the kitchen, defeated. Avli did say that it only worked automatically. Maybe that meant that if she got hurt, it would heal her, but she wouldn’t be able to heal others. Sure, she wasn’t the most altruistic person on the planet. Not even close. But that ability came with being an angel. She wanted it like all the other skills her mixed lineage robbed her of. She wouldn’t stop until she had each one.

While she sulked, Dean came in from the back garden and washed his hands. He’d been building wooden flower boxes and trellises in order to maximize the amount of greenery that could fit in their tiny yard. Every new plant increased Avli’s happiness. They delighted her. The least he could do was to encourage more growth. And later in the week, he planned to take the girl to a citywide volunteering day where people planted trees around the area. She would have a blast.

He thought it might be nice to get a bigger house eventually, one with a much larger yard. Maybe even near a park or forest. Avli belonged in nature. It was her real home. Being in a house was more like an excursion.

And then maybe they wouldn’t have a witch sleeping on their couch every night.

Speaking of Rosa, “Did you find your power source?” he asked, sitting down across from her. Cas turned to look at them both, and the question summoned Sam as well.

Her eyes scanned the three of them. She nodded. “Yeah.”

Dean wasn’t impressed with that answer. “And?”

“And I took it.” She sighed. “I can move things easier, and I can heal myself a little, but that’s it. There wasn’t enough power left.”

“They’re gonna notice,” Cas warned, turning back to breakfast.

She shrugged and rubbed at her forehead as a headache formed. But in the next moment it was gone. Huh. “I’m sure they will, eventually. But no one saw me during the whole trip.” As far as she knew, at least. “And I didn’t leave anything behind that could be used to identify me. The only people who know who did it is us.” And Earth, which only spoke to a very loyal little girl.

Dean snorted. “What if they can, like, smell it on you? Then what?”

“You guys aren’t even on that good of terms with them right now. Maybe I make myself scarce, too, using your conflict as an excuse.” She got up, grabbed a glass, and poured herself some orange juice. “I doubt most of them can do that, though. They don’t really seem to understand that they’re practicing magic. I can’t imagine they would be able to make it past my defenses without a much broader comprehension.”

The smell of eggs and sizzling vegetables met their noses as Cas nearly finished the first two omelets. He had home fries going, too, but those would take longer. Dean was salivating.

“You’re gonna try for more energy, though, right?” Sam asked as he moved to help Cas with the cooking.

The angel kissed him on the cheek. By all accounts, the two seemed particularly close lately, even for the overly intimate relationship that the three enjoyed. Practically inseparable. Rosa couldn’t help but notice. What on Earth could make them that much more entwined? She didn’t have a clue. Anyway, “Of course. The one in the bay is loosely guarded as well. And there are other places around the world.”

“Earth doesn’t like it,” said a tiny voice at the base of the stairs. In pajamas and socks, the girl moved with almost no sound. Only Dean, who was closest, heard her come down.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came from Cas.

But the girl didn’t look at him. Instead, she glared at Rosa. “You weren’t supposed to take all of it, Miss Rosa,” she chastised. “And you didn’t listen to what it had to say.”

“Earth said it could help me heal. But when I got there, the energy wanted to do something else. I only retrieved what I was promised.” She leaned back in her chair. “I didn’t hurt anything.”

Visibly upset, “She said you could get healing that way, not that you would! Not that you were supposed to make it do that!”

“Hey,” Dean intervened. While he might’ve employed a more bellowing voice if he were talking to the others, the one he used with Avli was kind and gentle. He motioned for the girl to come over to him. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Rosa just made a mistake.” He shot a frustrated look in her direction. “And she’s gonna apologize. Because she didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but she did. And when we hurt people, we apologize.”

Cas was proud. With each passing day, Dean fell more and more into being a parent, and it suited him. He adored Avli and wanted to protect her—but he also just wanted to be a good father. He wanted to do so much better than his own had. And while he didn’t have all the tools he needed, thanks to mental illness and a distinct lack of a good role model, he sure as hell could try.

The girl hugged him as Cas began serving breakfast.

Rosa let out a breath. If she didn’t sound like she meant it, everyone would be able to tell. “I’m sorry, Avli. You’re right. The energy told me what it wanted, and I made it do something else. I shouldn’t have done that.” Though she would do it again in a heartbeat, she didn’t enjoy upsetting a seven-year-old. “After we eat, I’ll go outside and apologize directly.”

Avli made a noise of disappointment, but quickly turned her attention to the angel’s cooking. She climbed into a chair next to Dean. After a few big bites, “If you do it again, she’ll be angry,” she warned. “Bad things happen when Earth gets angry.”

Blinking, Sam wandered over to the table and sat down, too. “What kinds of things?”

But the girl shook her head emphatically. “She doesn’t talk about it.”

Good, Cas thought. Because the conversation was already way too heavy for his comfort. And he could easily guess. Earthquakes. Landslides. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. All sorts of “natural” disasters could be caused by an angry god inhabiting an entire planet. But he certainly didn’t want death and destruction discussed over breakfast, even less with a child present. He imagined it would sour the food, which he spent so much time preparing.

A made-to-order omelet for everyone (with Avli’s being much smaller). A giant bowl of potatoes. And sliced honeydew melon. A big meal for a sleepy Saturday morning. Coffee, tea, and juice flowed freely, and Sam had a bowl of cornflakes he made for himself on top of everything else. When the cook finally joined them, they all chowed down.

Halfway through his food—which consisted entirely of bacon, eggs, and cheese—Dean turned to the girl and patted her shoulder. “We’ll make sure Earth is happy.” He didn’t really want to turn into a hippie in the process, but he could do his part.

Avli nodded solemnly. “She already gets hurt so much.”

“I think Seeds of Seattle will help.” The city’s tree-planting day was next week. “I mean, at least a little. You guys should come with us.” He looked around the table and gestured with this fork. “The more hands, the more trees get put in the ground.”

Sam smiled wide. He knew Dean intentionally brought up the event because it would make Avli happy. And how could he say no to that? “That sounds great.”

When he looked over at Cas, he found agreement. Rosa reluctantly acquiesced. “Yeah, definitely.”

***

The fallout at the archdiocese was severe. Chaos reigned as two trusted employees—the men at the ranger station—were immediately fired, and every member of the energy-protection team came under scrutiny. These inquiries created divisions amongst the staff, with people like Vergel and Micah having to choose a side. The Winchesters, Cas, and Rosa stayed as far away as possible. They contended that they were not being invited for anything specific, so why waste the archbishop’s time, and that of his employees?

Sam was the only one who braved the tempest. He had a hunch that with everything going on, he might actually be able to research in peace. He was half right. The archival staff left him alone, but the space was invaded by all sorts of intrusions. Clerks gossiped, clergy held heated meetings two tables over, and arguments erupted in the halls. After three hours of trying to focus, he eventually just copied an interesting page, word-for-word, onto his paper.

It was a list of instances under which the natural (“ _god-given_ ”) energy in a pool drastically changed in amount or intensity. The page, hand-written around Victorian times, described every known instance leading up to the moment of recording. Amongst the most substantial items: Humans stopping a forest fire resulted in it decreasing. People that built their houses out of mud and bricks tended to receive more energy than those using mined stone, wood, and metal. A group that initiated fewer wars enjoyed stronger power than its enemies.

But there were stranger, less explained notes of interest. A case of a woman in medieval times for whom the energy parted like the Red Sea. Whole towns _sensing_ when the energy went up or down. Buried bodies near or on the sites never decomposing. A report of someone waking up to a fully-grown tree sitting on top of the source.

The last one could be the Living Tree, according to descriptions from Rosa and Avli. If he or one of his associates visited the spot, for whatever reason, they would leave a plant upon their departure. Though Sam had no idea how such a thing could be accomplished without a sleeping person’s knowledge.

He found the whole passage to be intensely interesting, and he knew Rosa might like it even more. Since he couldn’t think or focus on a deep level, copying the whole page was a decent use of his time.

When he finished, the healer put the book—a former archbishop’s private journal—back in the case where it belonged. He scooped up his things and headed for the door. But before he could leave, Vergel blocked his path.

“No one has asked you any questions about the missing power,” the man pointed out.

Sam provided a hesitant smile. “Probably because I wouldn’t know how to remove it or even find it if I wanted to. The only energy I can sense is my own, the healing power. But I can’t see it. I can’t manipulate energy from other sources.”

“You say that, but how can we know for sure? I saw what book you were using. I know what’s in there. And it would take someone athletic to get to the spot.”

Or someone so stubborn that they could drag themselves there on pure willpower and gutsiness. Sam laughed. “Do you think I would walk back in here, knowing that someone or something you have can sense energy, if I was carrying around stolen merchandise? Seriously? Please. I didn’t take your special power, and I don’t know who did.” Of course, that part was a lie. “If you’re gonna give me shit every time I come in here, I’m gonna stop coming. I can find better things to do with my life. If you don’t want my help, just say so already.”

He pursed his lips in frustration, but moved so that Sam could get by him. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the energy disappeared right after you and your pals showed up.”

It wasn’t. “We were invited here, Vergel. We wouldn’t be here if your boss hadn’t requested my presence.” And then had him beaten up. “We’re here because he wants us here. You have a problem with that, you can take it up with him.”

“And if he suspects you, too?”

“He won’t.” Emmanuel might suspect Rosa or even Cas, but Sam didn’t have any reason to steal energy. And no matter how paranoid these people were, their leader felt a personal responsibility for their guests. He would jump through hoops to make sure his judgement wasn’t called into question. Sam knew it could work to his advantage, and the protection might very well extend to the others.

As a group of nuns passed by in the hall, Sam leaned down to an intimidatingly close level and whispered. “Whoever took your energy is strong enough to hurt people with it. I’d be careful.”

With that, he slipped away, happy to take a crowded bus home instead of spending one more minute in the archdiocese. When he finally reached their doorstep, his bad day melted off of him. Cas and Dean and Avli were sitting on the floor, coloring with crayons. They looked peaceful. Determined to act like and be a family at any cost. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat nearby. With relief washing over him, Sam sat down and picked up a coloring book full of flowers.


	44. Holy Diver

Rosa landed in the garden, covered in the Puget Sound. She wore only basic cotton for the trip. No shoes or anything heavy. Next time, she’d get a bathing suit.

She went after the power laying at the bottom of Elliott Bay. But it was a big place, and renting a boat—only to keep jumping out of it—would raise suspicions. So, she simply touched down on the surface, then flew as deep as she could go. She had to slowly come back up or risk getting the bends, which proved time-consuming and uncomfortable. The water was murky and cold, and she wasn’t the best swimmer in the world. Still, she repeated the task ten times before giving up for the day.

A towel awaited her in the backyard. She didn’t want to get dirty water all over their rented floors, and she knew the others would be pissed if she did. So, Rosa dried off. With the privacy of a tall stone wall, she wriggled out of her wet clothing and into a robe. She would take a shower to get the rest of it off before risking new clothes.

The other residents didn’t even notice when she entered the house.

Grown men and a little girl sitting in a circle, bent over books. It almost looked like they were witches in a coven, except instead of chanting, they were trying to color inside the lines. Sam had an intricate flower going on, while Cas was being creative with a large oak—one that looked suspiciously like the Tree of Life symbol. Dean took his time on a butterfly, of all things, and Avli was finishing the dress of some woodland spirit. Wherever they got these books from, the themes made sense. Everything the girl did was either nature-related or required to stay alive and grow as a person (like eating and learning).

She knew from overhearing that Dean had actually purchased them, not Cas. The angel bought several books for this purpose, but the subjects varied wildly, and Avli got bored. So, given free time and an endless supply of cash, Dean took the kid to a bookstore to pick out the ones _she_ wanted. Now, they had a stack half a foot tall full of wildlife, landscapes, and forests. If anyone had told her, in their past life, that macho Dean Winchester would be buying children’s toys and escorting a child to see animated movies, Rosa would’ve laughed in their faces.

But now? He seemed comfortable as a parent. Terrified at times, maybe. A little too protective. But comfortable nonetheless. It was a complete transformation, at least to her.

And Sam’s lack of involvement proved almost as surprising. Though he helped out now and then, he certainly wasn’t a primary caregiver. He acted more like an uncle or a family friend. Though he cared for the girl deeply, he busied himself with other things, perhaps sensing that raising Avli was something Dean and Cas wanted to do together. He took a back seat to the whole thing, helping only when needed or as a group activity with the other two. While he definitely had a say in how she was brought up—for instance what type of education she should receive—he did most of that indirectly. His primary role in Avli’s life was as the romantic partner of her parents.

She still seemed to adore him, though. He was so tall, she had to look up with big eyes to see him, and his size amused her. Dean was like her best friend, and Cas provided both fatherly and maternal influence. Across the three of them, Avli had everything she needed. Rosa heard laughter as Dean unsuccessfully argued that butterflies could be green and blue if they wanted to be, and that their criticism of his color choices was scientifically inaccurate. Even he didn’t believe his own bullshit, and he started snickering, too.

She wandered past them and upstairs without anyone even noticing her presence.

***

The Earth energy spared Rosa from most of the muscle aches associated with her recent endeavors, but not completely. She awoke the next morning in a small amount of pain, enough to skip the day. She took one more day off to look through Sam’s recent notes—with his permission—and to try and decipher the parts he didn’t understand. The mysterious woman had to be a goddess or an angel or some creature powerful enough to have energy run from her. It might even be Earth in a humanlike form.

A whole village sensing their nearby energy pool and what it did was even more interesting. Could it be genetics? A town full of psychic people? Or had they just been around it for so long that it became part of them, part of how they functioned? The list didn’t explain the name of the town or its specific location, just “ _1759, Americas._ ”

As far as she could tell, the church employed individuals in specific family lines because some of them were sensitive to power. Though the archdiocese wouldn’t tell her as much, it made perfect sense. A genetic psychic ability—more than likely explained as a gift from God or some kind of blessing—could allow normal humans to feel and maybe even control energy, especially with the help of special “prayers.” It seemed as though most of the people in Saint George’s Choir did _not_ have the ability, including Emmanuel and Micah. Only a handful, all specifically assigned to the energy’s protection, could do it. The rest were a massive support team made of assistants, librarians, and bureaucrats.

She would have to stay clear of any potential psychics, as they could most assuredly feel her new energy and know that it didn’t belong. Good to know.

Maybe Sam could help identify them. His empathy might at least alert her if someone started freaking out nearby. He could be her last line of defense should a group of those assholes show up at their front door.

***

The following day, Rosa tried again. It took twelve dives—pushing the limits of her wing strength—before she found a dome filled with green energy. The protections were far too complicated to undertake on one breath of air, so she would have to return with some gear.

Once she recovered, she flew to Florida to buy the stuff, with cash. She didn’t want the purchase to be traced back to her, but she also didn’t want to steal it. The items included an oxygen tank and mask, a wet suit, flippers, and gloves. She spent the rest of the week learning how to use them. The last thing she needed was to mess it up and get in trouble just because of a lack of preparation.

When the day finally came, she brought her sword, too, just in case. Rosa arrived just below the surface of the water to avoid detection. Since there wasn’t anybody around, she surfaced just long enough to adjust her equipment before making the magical dive. There, she reached out and pushed on the barriers as hard as she could, causing a violent ripple effect on the surface, akin to a tiny tsunami. Some of them broke, but most stayed intact.

Angry, the witch pushed again, taking out two more. This kind of energy usage, even with the help of the new power, was exhausting. The use of her sword, which caused bubbles and steam all around it, destroyed another and damaged the final one. But no amount of swiping or shoving seemed to break it open. And her efforts attracted two unfortunate guests.

Above her, a boat appeared. She couldn’t tell if it was a random passerby or someone with the church, but she needed to move quickly.

Behind her, a blue shark approached rapidly. Rosa knew there were sharks in the Puget Sound, but she assumed they didn’t get very close to the city. That was incorrect. The shark, known for attacks on humans and boats, decided she looked like a decent lunch. She struck out with her sword, but in the heavy water, she missed. The animal bumped against her shoulder. Thankfully, it didn’t take a bite. Rosa tried not to hyperventilate. She swiveled, formed a fist, and punched it in the gills. It did a circle around her before taking off.

She grunted. Since the sword wasn’t of much use, Rosa turned it off and sheathed it. She looked up at the boat in time to see two divers jump into the water. Though she was deep enough to get the bends, she had no choice but to leave abruptly. As a last resort, she crash-landed in their kitchen, breaking the table in the process. She ripped off her face mask and began screaming for Sam.

While her newfound healing power began to tackle the issue, it wouldn’t be fast or strong enough. The joints in her arms, shoulders, and back felt like they were being stabbed, deeply and all at once. The room spun, and she immediately vomited. Her skin itched. She genuinely felt like she was dying.

“Sam!” she shouted. “Sam fucking Winchester! I need your help! Sam!”

He found Rosa spread out amongst the two broken halves of the table. Her chest and hair were covered in puke, and her eyes darted wildly back and forth. She wore a scuba diving getup. True to form, the table and floor were covered in water. “What the hell?!”

“I can’t feel my legs. Help.”

Taking a moment to assess the situation, Sam eventually sniffed out the problem. “Decompression sickness?”

She nodded. The act produced a hundred new pains in her neck and back. “Had to leave in a hurry.”

Sam sighed, and walked over to her, his socks soaking up some of the water. Already miserable, “You’re cleaning this up. I hope you know that.” Grimacing, he reached down, pulled up the arm of her suit enough to reveal her wrist, and touched the skin there. In seconds, she was completely cured. He wrinkled his nose at the acidic smell of vomit. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered, “and get rid of all this water!”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted him. With a bit of sloshing, she got up slowly and headed outside to change. It took a bit of work to get out of the suit, and a session with the garden hose to get rid of the puke, but once she accomplished the tasks, Rosa returned in her robe. She grabbed a mop and some towels before trying to fix up the place.

In the end, the water damage was minimal. The table was a different story. It had to be thrown out. Rosa promised to help pick out a similar one as a replacement, and if need be, she could deal with the landlord about it. The others tolerated her exploits because they typically happened out of sight. Since this one obviously wasn’t, she felt responsible. And of course, she appreciated the reprieve from agony their healer provided.

“Did you get the energy?” Cas asked when everyone calmed down.

Fresh from a proper shower, Rosa shook her head. “Not yet. I got interrupted by some dudes on a boat, and—” She grinned. “And a shark.”

The angel chuckled. “Did the shark survive?”

She faked a glare in his general direction. “Yes, it survived. It wasn’t pleased by the right hook I gave it, though.”

Avli padded up next to them and grabbed the salt shaker. The group was eating dinner in front of the TV tonight, for obvious reasons. “She wanted to warn you,” the girl said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Rosa raised an eyebrow. “Earth?”

A nod.

“Earth sent the shark after me?”

“Mm-hmm. She wasn’t happy about the forest, Miss Rosa. She wanted to make sure you didn’t take all the energy again. Mr. Shark is her friend. Like me.” Holding the salt, she looked up at the two of them. “I’m glad he didn’t bite you, though.”

She snorted. “Well, he tried.”

The girl shrugged and returned to the couch where the Winchesters waited. When Rosa turned back to Cas, he had a smirk on his face. “I wonder what will be waiting for you if you go back.”

“ _When_ I go back.”

“Like I said. Watch yourself, Rosa. We’re talking about a god so ancient and powerful that other gods worship her. She could send a whole squadron of sharks. She could send a different god.”

Rosa exhaled loudly. “I could take on both with the amount of energy down there.”

“But you shouldn’t.”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

Cas picked up a breadstick from a plate full of them and took a bite. Pasta was on the menu, which easily satisfied everyone. “Maybe, just this once, you should do what the hyper-powerful being wants you to do. Take only some of the energy. Let it do what it’s supposed to do.” He lowered his voice. “That way, you still get a lot of what you want—and I don’t have to explain to a little girl why her best friend murdered you.”

The last sentence gave Rosa pause. She wasn’t afraid of death. She knew there was a chance her wings would allow her to continue on wherever she wanted, provided she wasn’t completely obliterated by something, and her human soul would likely give her a guaranteed spot in Heaven.

But having a child so young experience her death—even though kids had to do shit like that all the time—it wasn’t something she wanted to encourage. Death might not mean much to Avli, since she was a reincarnated soul, but could Rosa risk it? Could she bring pain down on that kid’s head over some extra energy? Knowing that Avli’s whole family was dead? Rosa may be driven, but she wasn’t an asshole (at least not in her opinion). And though he didn’t say it in this instant, Cas and the Winchesters would be upset, too. They did not want to see her get hurt.

“I’m still going, but I’ll follow the rules. I won’t take too much energy, and I’ll let it go where it wants.” She let out a big sigh. “I’m not trying to get killed.”

“Just fixing what’s broken?”

Ouch. “You think I’m broken, Cas?”

“Absolutely not. But _you_ do. That’s what all this is about, right? Getting enough power so you feel whole. So you can feel like you’re a full archangel?” He patted her arm. “You won’t ever be an archangel,” he said bluntly. “You can’t physically be one. You’re human as much as you aren’t. You have a soul, too.”

“Half of one.”

He nodded. “Has it ever occurred to you that a complete soul might be better than a complete angel? ‘Cause maybe that’s what Earth was trying to tell you. Full angels are already damaged. Becoming one, even if you could, wouldn’t fix you as a person.”

Cas glanced over at the rest of his family. After a pause, he continued. “Why do you think I am the way I am? Rosa, being an angel sucks. You might be powerful, but you’re not happy. You’ll never get to be happy. I had to let go of everything that made me an angel before I deserved something better.” He motioned toward the others. “You have a choice. You need to decide what you want.”

“Being human hasn’t helped me.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you’re not seeing the bigger picture. Or maybe it just hasn’t helped you yet.” He wandered over to his lovers and ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. The healer looked up at him lovingly. Cas joined the Winchesters on the couch, with Avli curled up in a nearby chair. Becoming like a human was the best decision he ever made. While he understood Rosa’s motivations, he couldn’t relate to them. He wouldn’t give up his family for anything.

The witch stood there and watched them for a long time. Eventually, she fixed a plate of pasta, meatballs, and bread. Though she wanted to eat alone in her room, she decided against it, choosing instead to sit on a foot rest in the living room. Everyone’s eyes trained on the TV, but none of them were watching, too interested in the food and the company.  She could see why Cas gave up his wings and his immortality for this. She understood.

But she couldn’t relate, either.

Rosa cared about her friends, about that little girl, but not even a quarter as deeply as the others routinely did. Hell, Cas probably cared about Rosa more than she cared about him. And he was her best friend! But she couldn’t help it. She just didn’t feel as strongly about other people. They would never be as big of a priority to her as becoming strong, nay invincible. Surely, her detachment from humanity had something to do with being half angel or only having half a soul. Of course it did. But that was how she’d been born. She was never really human, even when she thought she was.

Still, she’d go with Cas’s advice for now. It was sound, and hell, maybe she’d end up as a complete archangel _with_ a full-sized soul. If she could expand on one without hurting the other, there would be no reason why she couldn’t improve on both to the max. Let Earth do what she wanted with the power. It could only help Rosa in the long run. The more, the merrier.

***

They went with a non-religious charter school. The place was expensive, but what it provided seemed more than worth the cost. Avli would only go to school Monday through Thursday, with Wednesdays often being fieldtrips or outdoor activities. Fridays were meant for homework and extracurriculars of the parents’ choosing. And of course, weekends were off.

Cas and Dean attended an open house event, where they met teachers, staff, and other parents of possible students. There were more than a few gay couples there, so no one even blinked an eye at the two. If they noticed anything amiss, it was Dean’s discomfort at being around so many rich people. He didn’t want Avli to be bullied for not having the most expensive clothes or all the newest gadgets. She could certainly get them if she wanted, but the girl preferred dirt and flowers to Gucci and smartphones.

A few glasses of expensive champagne loosened him up, however, and he mostly just followed Cas’s lead. The angel spoke to the teachers the most, wanting to know what kind of curriculum Avli might enjoy. Unlike some of the other schools they checked out, nature and the science of it were major components, even for kids so young. Hands-on activities, experiments, guided recess—all of it seemed like things the little girl would enjoy. Sitting still in a classroom would be hard for her, but if she was properly entertained, this could work.

As part of the event, Dean and Cas got a tour, which showed small classrooms, classy architecture and design, a wide array of equipment in the gym, a beautiful art room, various educational toys, and perhaps most importantly: a full-sized greenhouse. Though they didn’t see much outside (since most of the tour took place after dark), they were assured that the children had access to playsets, trees, and plenty of open space to run around.

Inevitably, questions were asked of them, mostly by other parents. Cas did the majority of the answering, with Dean simply agreeing or saying a few words when addressed directly. They wanted to know about Avli. Did Cas have pictures? Yes. (He happily showed them, her dark eyes and bright smile featured in more than a dozen photos on his phone.) Why such an unusual name? She’s Bengali, and it was her birth name. So, she’s adopted? Of course she is. Where was she educated before? Homeschooling and “the best schools in India.” Has she been IQ-tested? No, but she’s brilliant. The questioning went on and on like that.

Dean found it particularly intrusive. And he nearly clocked a dude who asked if Avli spoke English. For that one, Cas was calm but not overly kind. “Fluently, along with Bangla and Hindi. How many languages does yours speak?” Dean had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing.

Teachers and the principal were easier to handle. They cared more about Avli’s interests and temperament than her race and social status. Cas explained her love of nature. He said that any form of education that incorporated it would be the most successful. But she would behave and follow direction regardless. She was a sweet kid who didn’t enjoy or provoke conflict.

At the end of the night, both of them were exhausted by all the socializing. But they left a positive mark on the right people. In their wake, a comprehensive application form followed—filled out by Sam with some help from Cas—and Avli got accepted. She would start in September.

They explained to the girl that she couldn’t speak to Earth during the school day or talk about the planet and what she’d told her. Avli would have to keep a secret. Like a game. The other kids would get jealous if they knew, Cas said. And she didn’t want that.

Clearly, the goal was to avoid having Avli get bullied. School kids could be brutal. Cas’s own history as a human child attested to that. They just wanted to ensure she had a good time and made friends.

They would pull her from the school if anything major happened.


	45. Call of the Cthulhu

Rosa’s final attempt at gaining power from the Elliott Bay source had to be planned out in depth. She needed to be in and out as quickly as possible, all while following Earth’s orders and avoiding both detection and attack. She would attempt to fly directly to the energy, with her oxygen already turned on. She’d return to the garden, but with the door open and Sam waiting nearby.

That was the plan.

But the execution left much to be desired. First off, she missed the mark not once but twice. Turbulent waters from a recent rain made visibility next to nothing that deep. Moreover, there were boats everywhere, ensuring she could not surface naturally.

When she finally got to the right place, there were divers already there, working on the protections she broke. Fortunately, with all the dirt kicked up in the water, they didn’t see her. She waited, as quiet and small as possible, until they had to surface for more oxygen. When they did, she moved in and began taking apart what they’d just mended. It took several minutes, each passing while she looked over her shoulder, before Rosa returned it to where she’d left off.

Nothing she tried before seemed to break open the final lock, so she had to take a different approach. Focusing her movement ability into her hands, she pressed them together at the backs. Slowly, she dug her fingers into the physical blockade. It hurt, like diving into a pile of sharp rocks. But she pushed forward until both hands were surrounded by the invisible barrier. Then, she added more power—all that she had—into the act of ripping it open. It felt like it took ages, but eventually she created a hole the size of a hubcap. She used her energy to prop it open before reaching inside.

Once again, Rosa inhaled with her angel body, pulling on the green power that slowly trickled out of the manmade orb. But as soon as she began, she stopped. She’d taken more than half, so she gave some back. She sighed. The witch watched as the opening closed itself. Her new power settled in attached not to her angel self but to her soul, making it bigger and stronger.

Though she didn’t want it there, the feeling it provided, a strange warmth, made her chest feel heavy. A lump formed in her throat, and she nearly sobbed. She had no idea why.

But Rosa didn’t have much time to think about it. Flashes of light around her betrayed the return of divers. With a thought, she was back in their backyard. The symptoms of rapid decompression set in as quickly as before, and she yelled out for help. Sam appeared at the door and healed her, before she even got her face mask off.

“Success?” he inquired with disinterest. He could tell by her heightened mood that she accomplished the task, but he knew people found his empathy unnerving. Even Rosa. So, Sam often asked questions to which he already knew the answer.

She nodded emphatically. “I took less than half, and now I guess I’m more human.”

“And nobody saw you?”

“I don’t think so. But they’re gonna knew it was taken, just like last time.” She breathed in deeply. Real air, even that of a big city, felt better than that from a tank. “It’s gonna be a big thing, I’m sure.”

“They’re probably going to suspect us.” Hell, Vergel already did, though he had the wrong culprit.

She got up off the dirt, spun around so that she faced away from him, and began undressing. Sam wasn’t technically gay, not like Cas, but he only had eyes for his two lovers. He physically couldn’t and didn’t enjoy other people in a sexual fashion. As such, she didn’t care if he saw her genitalia. For his comfort, however, she would make sure he mostly just caught a glimpse of her backside.

Of course, Sam didn’t appreciate her lack of modesty. He blocked his vision of her with one hand. “Rosa, c’mon.”

It took only moments before she was free of the restrictive garment and once again in her soft robe. “Oh shush. You’ve been in my head. I think you’ve seen way worse stuff than my ass.” Switching gears, “If they come after us, I’m not gonna hold back.”

He snorted. “I’d be surprised if you did.”

“That reminds me,” she said with a hint of hesitation. “I’ve always wondered how far you’re willing to go for the other two. We both know the sacrifices Cas and Dean made, and the ones they’re prepared to make, but what about you? You heal and you help, but what would you really do if everything was on the line? And don’t say ‘get killed,’ because that’s just a one-way ticket back to Disneyland.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I would do anything I had to. I’d kill. I _have_ killed. When all I want to do is save lives, I’d kill for them in a heartbeat.” After all, he did so with precision back at Bobby’s house.

“Killing is easy,” she countered. “Especially with a gun. Would you live? Would you make yourself live if one of your lovers died? If what happened before happened again, would you still kill yourself and leave Cas alone? Or would you overcome your need to die?” She breathed out. “And could you give up your healing power for them, if you had to? Or never use it again?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m curious.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe and bowed his head slightly. “The power, yes. It would hurt, but I could do it.” He sniffed. “I can’t live without Dean, though. Twice, I tried, and I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I could survive without Cas, either. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to. I _can’t_. I don’t know if they could do it either. Maybe they could. But I don’t have it in me.”

The witch found herself unusually moved by the little speech. “Where do you end and they begin? Do you get to exist independently?”

“I don’t know.” He licked his lips. “We’re tied together. Parts of me aren’t me, and the same goes for them. I dunno, I just—I’m not a complete person if I’m not with them. I wanted to stay alive for Cas. I did. But I couldn’t do it.” Sighing, “He deserved to have me there.”

“He did.”

“I’m not sure he coulda made it without Dean, either. Even with me by his side. We’re too entangled, too dependent on each other. The three of us—our relationship isn’t like other people’s. It’s simultaneously unhealthy and so much better.” While he smiled slightly, his eyes looked sad. “If I’d stayed, maybe we could’ve made the choice together. To leave or not. Instead, he didn’t really get to choose, and he was alone.”

Rosa eased up. “Cas forgave you, though. And he didn’t die alone. I was there.”

“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you can’t control.” Even though she was less forgiving than the angel, she didn’t think continuing to badger him was the right call. He had plenty of devotion and courage. He simply wasn’t perfect. “Just do what you can if we run into a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” came from behind Sam. In the next instant, Dean appeared. He kissed his soulmate first on the cheek and then the mouth. He smiled but seemed to sense Sam’s distress.

Rosa stared at him. “If our pals at the archdiocese come knocking, we need to be ready. I haven’t given them any evidence it was me, but they might guess anyway. All of us need to be on high alert. We have to protect each other.”

Dean gritted his teeth but tried to remain calm. “So, you stole more energy?”

“Yep.”

“Are you planning to go after any more?”

She shook her head. “If they attack us, I figure it’s fair game. But otherwise, no, I’m done.” At least here. Rosa imagined there were other under-protected or completely open energy sources in the world, and she wouldn’t mind trying to find them. Not all of them were managed by the Catholic church—though she had no problem going after more of their sites. The possibilities seemed endless.

And Earth hadn’t attacked her this time. Meaning, if she followed the rules, she might be able to get as much energy as she needed, eventually.

“But you had to put us in danger again, right?” Dean couldn’t help but get fired up. He didn’t give a shit about his own skin, but they had a kid now. Cas, Sam, and the girl were his whole world. He couldn’t and wouldn’t watch them get hurt. “For a fucking magic buzz! How the hell am I gonna explain to Avli that we can’t go on walks unless I’m armed to the teeth? We’re supposed to be getting her ready for school, not preparing for another goddamn war.” His voice cracked.

Sam put his arm around him and pulled him close. “Nothing’s gonna happen. They might ask us questions, but they have no evidence at all.”

“You say that like they didn’t kidnap you and beat you up because of a rumor.”

Rosa cleared her throat. “They caught Sam by surprise. We know what they’re capable of now. And they’re severely outgunned. I don’t want a war any more than you do, but if we have one, we’ll win. We’ll easily win.”

“Why is this a ‘we’? Sam and the rest of us didn’t sign up for what you’re doing. We agreed to come here, but that’s it. You did the stealing. Why don’t _you_ deal with the consequences? It’s your mess!”

She told herself not to get upset, but she felt wounded nonetheless. She did so much for them. Why couldn’t they just back her up? But yelling wouldn’t do anything. Dean was just scared. His life revolved around Avli and his companions, and he feared for their safety 24/7. “Then it’ll just be me fighting back. I’m stronger now, because of the power. You’ll still have to answer their questions, but I’ll do the rest if I have to.”

The response didn’t satisfy Dean. How could it? But he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Inside, the other two members of his family were having fun looking at bookbags online. They were laughing and just being happy. He wanted to be a part of that. Though Avli’s only job in life was to grow and learn, she became a sort of medicine for him. Someone to focus on without obsessing. Someone who needed him for even the most basic of things. And it genuinely seemed like he was good at it. With Cas’s help (and Sam’s now and then), they provided more than adequate parenting.

He turned, slipped out of his brother’s grasp, and left the two of them.

Sam folded his arms across his chest. “He doesn’t need this right now. Neither does Cas.” Or him, for that matter. “We have a little girl, Rosa. She needs us. She didn’t ask to be in danger all the time.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“What if it’s not up to you?” he returned. “You can’t be everywhere at once, Rosa. And you’re not omnipotent.”

“I’m stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough.” With that, he ended the conversation by leaving. When she followed him into the house, he’d gone upstairs to avoid her.

***

Unsurprisingly, the fallout from her second raid was twice as bad as the first. All outsiders were banned from Saint George’s Choir premises unless directly invited by Emmanuel. This included Sam and anyone wanting access to the archives. He showed an appropriate amount of aggravation but didn’t fight them on the decision. To be honest, he was tired of dealing with Vergel and his cronies. They would only be even more insufferable now.

Dean and Cas were thrilled to have Sam around more, and the three spent the days that followed in each other’s company or having fun with Avli. It was summer, so they made use of the local public pool, as well as the city’s many parks. The angel loved open-air markets. Dean favored air-conditioned movie theaters. And Sam adored museums. They took turns bringing the girl to each of these places, giving the other two some much-appreciated one-on-one time. For citywide events, all three participated as her parents. Seeds of Seattle was just the first. Then came the Pride parade in June (insisted upon by Cas). The Fourth of July fireworks show. The various festivals and celebrations. They attended as a group and had a fantastic time.

Each man also involved himself in helping prepare Avli for school. They bought all the necessary supplies, including her burgundy uniform, which had a shield-like crest embroidered on each shirt. Though they didn’t love the idea of making her wear essentially the same thing every school day, it was only four days a week, and there were a lot of options in terms of what she could actually wear. Pants one day, a skirt the next. Sweaters or a coat in the colder weather or a white, collared shirt (with either long or short sleeves) for warmer times. Shoes simply had to be black and plain, so they bought her a bunch of different ones.

Notebooks, writing utensils, a lunchbox, and a backpack followed. The last two were not regulated, so she could express herself there. The bag she chose featured animals from Africa while the box showed a dreamy forest scene. Wherever she went, she’d take nature with her.

At the halfway point of the summer, they introduced a new member of the family. An undersized rescue puppy. Their landlord found it on a different property, and thought his most reliable tenants (minus whatever happened to the dining room table) would like to take care of the poor thing. Since Avli loved animals as much as dirt and flowers, and her birthday was the following week, her fathers couldn’t say no. It might be a big responsibility, but she would have help. Sam loved dogs, for instance, and when he saw the creature, he fell in love.

It was a male dog, and a mutt. Possibly collie and retriever mixed together. They named him Bandhu, after the Bangla word for friend. Avli insisted that the pup sleep in her bed at night, so Dean built a couple of wooden steps for the purpose—that way, he could get up and down as needed. They took the animal to the vet for vaccinations and gave him a bath. After a week of regular feeding, Bandhu bounced back, his fur becoming shiny and soft and his body weight slowly returning to what would be expected of a dog that age.

Avli and Bandhu were practically inseparable in those days, spending hours in the garden or going on walks with one of the adults. They were playing fetch in a nearby park, with Dean assisting, when Saint George’s Choir made contact.

Dean saw them before Avli did, as they approached the girl. He was off the park bench and onto his feet in no time. He slipped between his charge and the clergy that seemed intent on speaking with her. Two priests. One nun. One plain-clothed. They stuck out like a sore thumb in a place full of parents and kids. He silently hoped he could make them leave without causing a scene.

“What do you want?” he cut to the chase.

The younger priest pulled out a cellphone and started flipping through photos. “You must be Dean,” he said in a bored tone. “I’m Micah.”

“What _do you want_?” he repeated. He’d heard of Micah, but he didn’t care. The scrawny priest was a threat to his family. All of them were. He would defend Avli against them at any cost, and try to do so with minimal emotional hardship to his daughter.

“Calm down,” said the nun. “We just want to ask the girl a few questions.”

He snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why not?” Micah countered. Lowering his voice as a group of children ran by, “Does she have something to hide? We know she’s special, but you and your pals failed to explain _how_. I think we all know. She can manipulate Earth energy.”

Dean scoffed and put his hand out as he heard Avli approach. She took it. When he looked down, Bandhu was back on the leash and sitting patiently at the girl’s side. He smiled a little at that. “You’d have to be a witch or a god or some creepy crawly to do that. She’s not any of those things. She’s just a kid. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

He turned and started to head away from the park, but Micah grabbed his arm—which resulted in an automatic shove from Dean. The young priest flew off his feet and landed in the dirt. “What the fuck!”

“Don’t touch me gain,” he warned. Looking up at the others, “Consider that a warning. Leave us the hell alone. We don’t know where your energy is, and Avli has nothing to do with it. If you try to talk to her again, you’ll regret it. Severely.”

As he rushed away from the scene, eventually picking Avli up and walking the dog himself, he caught the tail end of a conversation amongst the clergy. “…She doesn’t _feel_ like the energy. Somethings up, but she doesn’t have it. He doesn’t, either.” Dean took a small amount of comfort from that.

When he could be sure no one would see him, he flew the three of them home.


	46. Dissident

“You have to leave,” Dean insisted as the argument heated up. “Sooner or later, they’re gonna sniff you out, and then we’re all fucked. You can’t stay here.”

The news of them being approached frightened all three men, and this was the inevitable reaction. But Rosa knew better. “If I go, and they keep coming after you, how do you stop them? How on earth are you gonna defend yourself against everything the Catholic church can throw at us?” She paced back and forth as she made her point. “And you need to understand that it could be the entire church we’re talking about here, not just the local chapter.”

Cas avoided the conversation. He didn’t want to tell Rosa to take off, even though this was her mess, and he knew they needed her help, regardless of the fact that they needed it because of her. He also didn’t want Avli to hear any of the argument. He took her and Bandhu out into the backyard, where they “worked” on a small stone fence around the flowers. To drown out the yelling, he played them music off of his phone.

His opinion on the matter was represented, however, by Sam, who understood, more than any of them, how much value Rosa had as a protector. They wouldn’t have Avli without her help, and he might have died in the process. Though he didn’t like many of the things she did, Sam didn’t think kicking her to the curb was right. She helped them often, in her own way. She was their friend.

But he let Dean say his peace first. His concerns were more than valid, and he was horrified about the day’s events. “If you’re gone, they won’t have a reason to come after us.”

“Except that you all introduced me to them!” She stopped walking and pointed at Dean. “And they beat your brother up on a goddamn hunch!”

Sam inched to the edge of his chair. It was positioned facing away from his small desk. “They’re trigger-happy,” he said slowly. “They didn’t even understand what I can and can’t do. No one ever said I could heal myself, but the wounds they gave me would’ve been fatal if I couldn’t. And then they had a sword with my name on it. We have to assume they wield powerful magic, too. Only one of us knows magic, Dean.”

He groaned. “She’s gonna get us killed.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I was only involved in one of your deaths, and all I did was serve tea.” She thought an ounce of humor might help. And a reminder of her importance in their lives. When no one was there for Cas, she was. She protected him from the pain of losing everyone he loved. She delivered him back to the Winchesters.

“If they hurt Avli—” But Dean couldn’t finish his sentence. He pressed the palms of his hands into his forehead. Beneath them, tears escaped his eyes. He trembled. It was the beginning of a panic attack.

She sobered at the implication and upon seeing the man crumble before her. “No one will hurt that child,” she promised. “I’ll make sure of it. Up to and including protecting her parents.” After a pause, “But I can’t do that if I skip town. This shit doesn’t work long-distance.”

When Dean could compose himself to speak again, he turned to Sam. “I give up.”

He moved from the desk to his soulmate’s side and kissed the side of his head. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” A statement he found himself repeating more and more frequently. “We’re not defenseless either. You got them away from Avli without even drawing a weapon.” He would’ve told him how courageous that was, but he knew Dean wouldn’t believe or agree with him. “And you’ve seen me in a fight. We’re not gonna roll over and let them take anything from us.”

Even Cas, who was the weakest fighter among them, would stop at nothing to protect Avli, up to and including sacrificing his own life. He would defend her with anything and everything he had. The only way to get to her would be through him.

Sam knew Dean was the same, and while Sam the healer might have a more level-headed approach, he was fully prepared to do whatever proved necessary. “We can take a couple flights back to Bobby’s, load up on supplies,” he continued. A flight with angel wings, of course. “Be back in less than an hour.”

His brother nodded solemnly. “But we have to keep everything unloaded or out of reach.”

Sam marveled that Dean was so worried about something like that. Avli wasn’t interested in guns and probably never would be, but precautions _were_ important. Even though he carried and used a gun at Avli’s age. What their father would’ve thought laughable, Dean, himself now a parent, found essential. Guns and children weren’t supposed to mix. He knew that now. And he was terrified of what might happen if they did.

“We will,” Sam assured him. They could keep everything on shelves too high to reach or in locked drawers. Have the extras be unloaded and limit the number of knives lying around. The only one left at easy reach of the kid was the angel sword, but they kept it out of sight near the door.

Dean reluctantly agreed to the terms, and said that Rosa should be their taxi to get the stuff. It was only fair. She acquiesced, happy not to pack up her things.

***

The next time Saint George’s Choir contacted them, it was at their front door. Thankfully, neither Rosa nor Dean and the girl were home. Avli had to attend an “orientation” for her new school. It would take up half the day and involve meeting some of her classmates and teachers. Dean dropped her off before going on a supply run for things like bullets, protective items, and groceries. He would eventually return to the school and sit in the parking lot to wait for her.

Rosa made herself scarce as she developed a plan. She kept three cellphones, all fully charged, for use as a distress call by any of her comrades. In an instant, she could be back in Seattle. But otherwise, she wanted space to organize her ideas (typically, over coffee in Miami, one of her favorite places). And since she thought members of the Choir might be able to sense the energy inside her, Rosa didn’t want to be around for that.

So, it was Sam and Cas at home, doing some late morning cuddling, when the church showed up. The doorbell rang incessantly until the two men finally got up and put enough clothing on to be presentable. Sam looked out the front window and saw that culprits were clergy. By Dean’s description, the group looked like the one that approached Avli.

Cas decided to take the lead, simply because they respected him more. He tugged his borrowed sleeveless shirt down until his stomach wasn’t showing before answering the door. He left the sword in a nearby drawer, but it was within lunging distance. When he saw them, the angel didn’t smile. “I think you need to apologize.”

Taken aback, Micah actually put away his phone. “For what?”

“For following my daughter to the park,” he practically growled. “For frightening Dean and generally fucking up their afternoon.”

Micah looked at the others, but they all wore blank expressions. They would not be helping him make decisions. He was _their_ leader. He sighed. “We’re sorry,” he said unconvincingly. “We didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”

“So, what do you want with us?”

“You already know.” He looked past Cas to the healer, who’d already been accused of thievery by Vergel, and probably countless others in private. “We need the energy back. It doesn’t belong to you.”

“We didn’t take it,” Cas retorted immediately. “Sam wouldn’t even know how.”

On cue, the younger Winchester wandered over to the doorway, helping to use his own body as a barrier to the rest of the house. There may have been four of them, but two were old and one was scrawny. Sam had faced worse odds. Especially since he had a handgun stuffed into the back of his waistband.

“Where is the little girl now? We would like to ask her who has it. We believe she knows.”

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why’s that?”

Grinning like an idiot, Micah took a step forward. “A little birdie told us she talks to a demigod. We know she was attacked by a different one that was its enemy. We know the half-angel killed it, and then you healed the kid.”

“Then you took her to your den of iniquity,” hissed the older priest, who neither of them recognized.

“I’m an angel,” Cas reminded them. “The child is special, but in ways you will not understand.” Mainly because he had no idea how Avli ended up befriending Earth, and the girl couldn’t tell him, either. “She knows things a child shouldn’t know, but she is not omniscient. She doesn’t have the answers you seek, and she shouldn’t be interrogated as part of your newest witch hunt.”

Micah tilted his head to one side. “That’s cute. Where’s the girl?”

The angel blinked slowly and took half a step toward the guy. “Not here, and I think you misunderstood me. You will not be talking to her. That wasn’t part of our initial deal, and we have not changed the terms. Maybe if you had asked first like rational people, but you didn’t.”

“We have ways to make you.”

Sam put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Try any one of them and see what happens. We saved Avli from a powerful god. We could easily save her again, and the consequences to you would be severe. You won’t talk to her. Sorry. So just check us for the energy already and get lost.”

Micah took a few steps back and motioned for the nun to walk forward, when she did, she reached out in their direction but didn’t touch them. In the next instant, she recoiled. Her compatriots asked what was wrong, helped her to her feet, and fixed her habit. “They’re both so bright,” she stammered. “God help me, I can’t feel anything.”

Interesting. Cas thought it strange that she would move away from him like that. It was familiar. Like being blinded by power. A quick check exposed a stunning revelation. The woman had just an ounce of angel energy in her system. They weren’t psychics. They were descendants, possibly of one or more women not unlike Rosa’s mother. An angel’s vessel could not carry a child, but a powerful enough angel could impregnate a human if it wanted to. Over time, breeding with other humans would dilute any powers. Until—until the only thing left was a vague sense of the world around them.

That’s why they only picked certain families. Because it really was genetic. And that was why only some got the “gift.” Did they know that was the source of their abilities? Sam hadn’t seen anything about it in the archive, but maybe they weren’t showing him everything. Or did they just think they were special? Blessed by God?

Whichever the case, this nun had a strong enough ability to be bothered by immense angel energy.

It took a little while, but eventually she recovered. Though she didn’t dare go near them again. “No, they’re clean. They don’t have our power. And I don’t feel it in the house.”

“That’s because we didn’t take it,” Sam insisted.

The group moved away from the front door a little, half-carrying the nun as they went. But Micah hesitated. “What about the woman—Rosa? Where is she?”

Cas shrugged. “Errands, I think. Want me to call her?” He held up a burner phone. “Your girl could get her senses fried even worse, though. Half-archangel is still stronger than a normal angel.” At such a suggestion, the nun looked like she might take off down the street.

“Another time,” Micah suggested. Perhaps a person with weaker senses would be more appropriate. One that wouldn’t get hurt by being in the presence of an angel. “I still have questions. We’ll see you later.” With that, he turned and ushered the others away. As they walked, Sam recognized the plain-clothed man as one of Emmanuel’s bodyguards. He was the driver. Sam couldn’t remember if the man had hit him or not.

Shutting the door, Cas swiveled and embraced his lover for a few moments. The healer held him close, saying nothing. He didn’t have to. Close calls elicited this reaction from both of his partners. They needed him, or each other, to help soothe the fear.

Eventually, Sam pulled away enough to speak softly. “I love you,” he reminded him. “Everything’s gonna be all right. I promise.”

Of course, he couldn’t say for sure. But he _felt_ that it was true, and more importantly, his words provided some much-needed reassurance to the angel. Cas knew Sam couldn’t see into the future. He knew they were in danger. But he was happy to believe, if only for a little while, that they would come out on top. “I love you too, Sam.”

Later that day, they told Dean and Rosa what happened. The information unsurprisingly contributed to the former’s stress. But it motivated the witch. These people would either keep showing up or go away. Their next move would determine hers. If she spotted even a fraction more aggression from them, it would be war.

***

Avli’s first day of school was a cause for celebration. Cas prepared her very first packed lunchbox. A salami and cheese sandwich with mustard (her favorite), an orange, a small bag of pretzels, and a bottle of grape juice. He had to play Tetris to make the box latch. With precision, he made sure her uniform was pressed and clean. He tied her new shoes—double-knotted because of the fancy laces—and he brushed her hair. When the girl was finally ready, he gave her a big hug before telling her that she was going to have a great time.

Dean drove her there. He looked forward to the opportunity all summer. Even thinking about it made him smile. Though it was a little bittersweet to finally watch her go. She waved and disappeared inside the big front doors. Above them read the schools name: _Chester Carlson School for the Arts & Sciences_. He waited for a minute or so before finally leaving for home. He could be back in seconds if he needed to be, though he would still worry about her. That’s what parents did.

He cared. He wanted Avli to have fun and to learn, and he needed her to be safe. He hoped she would make friends and not be bullied. He didn’t know what would happen. But at least she had a good mentor for social stuff, since Cas was popular in college.

As he drove away, Dean got a few looks from the other parents. He didn’t dress like they did, but most importantly, his vehicle stood out. It wasn’t a Lexus or a Buick or a BMW. It wasn’t an SUV or minivan. It was an expensive, beautiful car—but a muscle car nonetheless. He would never trade it in for something more normal. Let them think he was having a mid-life crisis or something. Let them judge. It was how Avli got treated that concerned him.

Rosa used the chaos of the day for a little reconnaissance. She heavily shielded herself, not unlike the way the energy sources were protected, and went to church. She sat atop one of the buildings and watched. She listened, with the help of a spell, to any and all conversations that took place. This amount of power usage drained her, but for a few hours of intel, it was worth it.

The boys’ attempts to shake off Micah and his gang were somewhat successful—at first. But suspicions were brewing again, and it centered around Avli. They still believed she knew who the culprit was. (They weren’t wrong.) And they planned to approach the girl again the next chance they got.

That was aggressive enough for Rosa. She would proceed with her plan.

At face value, the problem lay in just a handful of people from Seattle sticking their noses where it didn’t belong. But in reality, it was a large group, with members from around the world. The congregation had witches, energy-sensitives, magic objects, and enough spells to take out even Rosa if they knew she was coming.

So, she needed help.

Later that week, she dressed in all white and took a trip to west Africa.

It was an eight-hour time difference, so while she left at one in the afternoon, it was nine there. Dark. Overcast clouds prevented starlight, but glowed from the moon. She waded into the river, just as she had done twice before. Instead of a pitcher, she simply cupped the muddy water in her hands and then slowly let it drip down again. She called for Yemaya, and projected her desire outward as far as she could.

Instead of the shoreline, the water goddess showed mere inches in front of Rosa, startling her. She looked down on the witch with an inhuman curiosity before gripping her by the jaw. “You cannot stay away,” Yemaya pointed out.

Rosa raised her head a little to look her in the eye. The physical contact made her more than uncomfortable, but she didn’t dare do anything about it. “I have a proposition.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know the pools of energy left to humans by Earth?”

She moved even closer. “Of course.”

“Do you know the Christians who guard a great portion of them, who hoard the power for themselves under the guise of protecting it from evil?” Rosa was certain her voice trembled.

With complete distaste, Yemaya formed the words “Saint George’s Choir.”

Rosa licked her lips and kept eye contact. “They lured in and attacked Sam Winchester because of his power. They tried to kill him. Now they threaten all three men, myself, and most importantly, the child—Avli.”

The goddess closed her eyes for a moment before finally responding. “You took some of the Earth power. Some that they thought was theirs?”

She nodded. “I did. But it’s not theirs, is it? Does South Africa belong to the Dutch just because they claimed it?”

“Bloodshed does not dictate rightful ownership.”

Rosa forced a smile. “The church’s history is nothing but bloodshed. Its God endorses their violence through non-action. The Choir knows only the infliction of pain, theft, and greed. It is a powerful enemy, I imagine to us both.”

Her left hand moved up the witch’s cheek until the thumb rested just below her eye. “The Abrahamic God is your father,” she insisted. “Are you not his worshiper?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You renounce him?”

“Yes.”

“Then who is your god?”

Her smiled grew bigger. “Any god that will help me take down an empire,” she practically whispered, as though the Catholic church might hear them, “is a god I will worship.”

Yemaya produced a dagger, seemingly out of thin air. It was about the length of Rosa’s forearm, but thin and straight. The goddess held it to her throat. “Even in death?”

Gulping, “Even in death.”

Why not? She seemed drawn to this particular god over all others, up to and including the one who personally made her father. And she already felt weirdly submissive to her. Like if Rosa were to relinquish control to anyone, it might just be this strange and powerful creature. She didn’t know what Yemaya’s afterlife looked like, but she was curious. And if her plan worked out, she would be almost as strong as the goddess herself.

“And what do you want in return?”

The cold metal was still pressed against her flesh, so she took a chance and gently pushed it away with her index finger. “I want to wield your power. Not like before. No uneasy feeling in my stomach. No nightmares. I want you to walk with me as I dismantle the Choir. I want to draw upon your energy directly and use it against them. I want you to help me do it.”

“They are stronger than they appear.”

“Either one of us wouldn’t be enough, but working together? We could destroy their defenses and release the energy to its true owners: the people. It would be free to use for all, including you and your worshippers.”

Yemaya tilted her head and moved until her lips nearly touched Rosa’s ear. “You want the energy for yourself.”

She tried to stay calm. Of course she did. But… “With you by my side, I won’t need it.”

“You think me an equal?”

“No,” she said immediately, with some of that meekness creeping back in. Then, “Not yet.”

With a breath—the first that Rosa noticed—Yemaya let her go and drifted back in the water. A few meters away, a large fin, perhaps of a dolphin or gigantic fish, slapped at the water. The witch knew her newfound idol sometimes appeared as a mermaid, but she had trouble believing it, even now. She could see now that Yemaya wore no clothing. Though her hair was long, it didn’t quite cover her bare chest. Her breasts appeared full, like that of a woman ready to nurse an infant. Rosa caught herself staring and quickly averted her gaze.

“You have seen them before,” Yemaya quipped. “Nothing new.”

True. She had a pair of her own. But then, why was she staring? What was it about seeing the goddess in the nude that seemed so strange? She was just like any woman, and in fact looked different every time Rosa saw her. And yet, all she wanted to do was look again. Eventually, she glanced at them once more and then made eye contact.

“Will you help me dismantle the Choir?” She was happy to change the subject. “We could destroy them, one location at a time. Until they either surrender, or there’s no one left to do so.”

“You speak of war like it is your lover.”

She grinned. Maybe it was. “Will you help me?”

Yemaya bowed a little, and for a moment the tips of her breasts dipped into the murky water. “I will. When do we begin?”


	47. Ecstasy of Gold

Dean was by himself. Cas went to the open-air market, Sam tackled laundry in the basement, and Avli still had two hours of school left. Rosa never stuck around for long, and he hadn’t seen her in days. So, he stretched out on the couch and watched TV.

Inevitably, the doorbell rang.

He sighed, went to the door, and looked out at the suspect. But it was just one woman, short in stature, who certainly didn’t look like a nun. He opened the door and smiled down at her. “Can I help you?”

She returned his smile. “I’m looking for Rosa… uh, Rosa Álvarez del Campo.”

Dean saw that she held an unmarked cardboard box close to her chest. He noticed that before anything else. Then, the perfectly manicured nails, immaculately kept hair and clothes, and expertly applied makeup. This woman, whoever she was, cared about her appearance down to every detail. It made Rosa look lazy! And she was obsessed, too. “How do you know Rosa?”

“Oh, we’re good friends.”

“From back in Dallas?” He intentionally gave the wrong city.

But the woman shook her head. “Certainly not! Austin. We worked together. I’m Janaína. Everyone calls me ‘Jane.’” After readjusting her grip on the box, she offered him her hand. When he shook it, “I brought her a gift. Is she here?”

Dean didn’t trust this woman, but he couldn’t come up with a good reason. Even his gut wasn’t sure. Either his meds were cutting into his instinct, or his illness made every stranger into an enemy. Maybe both. “How did you—?”

“How did I know she lives here? Please! She told me. We chat at least once a week.”

“And you decided to just drive up here from Austin?”

She laughed—a big, hearty laugh. “No! Of course not! I’m visiting family in Portland, and I figured I’d surprise her. I’d go crazy on a drive like that. Hell, the three-plus hours was bad enough!” After a moment to look him over, “She didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

If he’d been drinking something, he would have spit it out. “ _Roommate_ ,” he corrected. “A bunch of us share the house.”

“Ah. Is she coming back soon? I’d really like to see her.”

“I can call her,” he said carefully. He would anyway, just in case. “You wanna come inside?” He opened the door for her and motioned towards the living room. She nodded, and stepped past him.

Once in the house, “What’s your name?” she asked, looking around.

“Dean.”

“Oh! Dean Winchester. She _did_ mention you. As an old friend.”

He picked up his phone and selected one of her contact numbers. “Yeah, we go way back,” he said as it rang. When she picked up, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Someone’s here to see you. Says she’s a friend. Jane-something.”

“Who?”

“Janaína,” the woman corrected.

“Yeah, uh, Ja-naí-na.” He had to take his time on the pronunciation.

There was a long pause. Then, “Oh yeah, she’s a friend of mine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up on him. He slipped the phone into his pocket.

She set the box on the kitchen counter before leaning against it. Before they could make small talk, Sam appeared at the door to the basement, his arms laden with a heavy basket. Which he dropped upon seeing their visitor. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Instinctively, Dean pulled a gun on Janaína. “Sammy, what’s wrong? Who is she?”

He turned to Dean with fear in his expression. He looked like a scared kid in that moment.

“Who are you?!” he bellowed in her direction.

She shot them both a look of confusion and innocence but said nothing. Sam, on the other hand, found his voice. “It’s—it’s… Fuck, it’s Yemaya.”

“God damnit!” He waved the gun a little before slamming it down on the nearby desk. A gun would be useless. Everything in the house would be useless. They were completely defenseless against the powerful and vengeful water goddess.

Their turmoil didn’t seem to affect Yemaya, who simply smiled at Sam. “Long time no see! How you been? I trust Rosa looked out for you in that little tiff with Moloch.”

Sam pressed himself against the wall. It took a few seconds for the name to register. “Wait… Moloch, the demon?”

She shook her head. “Moloch is older than the demons you’re thinking of, and he doesn’t have anything to do with Christianity or Judaism. He just made it into Biblical passages. Anyway, did you know they used to sacrifice kids to that little bastard? How fucked up do you have to be to do some bullshit like that?”

“We killed Moloch?”

“Well, not we. Rosa killed Moloch, using my energy.” She pushed off of the counter and paced up to the man. “But don’t worry, Sam, you played your part well. And I’m sure Avli is very happy now.”

“She’s wonderful,” Dean managed.

Sam didn’t move a muscle. “Why—why are you here? Did she renege on the deal?”

“Oh no, dearie. Quite the opposite. I’m here to make your problems with the church go away. Or rather, to help Rosa do it. She is such a sweet little thing, isn’t she?” She chuckled. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to speak with her.” Turning to Dean, “I don’t believe we’ve met before today.”

They hadn’t. While she spoke at length with Sam—under different identities—and beat the shit out of Cas for simply being an angel, she never once met Dean.

“Did Sam ever tell you? When we first met, I gave him some relationship advice. Glad to see it worked.”

The brothers looked at each other. Sam nodded subtly. Dean blinked in disbelief. “About _us_?”

“When I took off with the Impala,” the healer explained. “You know, right when we found out we were soulmates. I ended up in the woods and this cop…” He gestured toward Yemaya. “This cop gave me theoretical advice about how to win you over. She said pressuring you wouldn’t work.”

The goddess laughed again. “I thought I was going to be speaking with you, Dean. After all, it was your car. Imagine my surprise.”

“Why did you wanna talk to me?”

“I wanted to convince you to go with your soulmate instead of the angel. But things didn’t work out that way. Your relationship with him is resilient, to say the least.”

“You nearly killed him,” Dean accused.

She shrugged. “My apologies. If it’s any consolation, I find him much more agreeable now. Almost human. And I hear he’s become quite the parent.”

“Him and Avli are inseparable,” Sam confirmed with fear remaining in his expression. Even now, he worried for Cas’s safety, should he return and find Yemaya here.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to fret for long, as Rosa abruptly entered the room.

Dean winced at the loud noise her wings caused. Every time she took off or returned, he heard it. And if it happened to be at night, it would wake him up. “Mind telling us why Yemaya is here?” he groaned.

Rosa blushed, not from embarrassment or being caught but from existing in the same room with the goddess. It was one thing to go to a dirty river and see her there, but in this setting? And with her dressed so effortlessly normal? “She’s gonna help us.”

“I’m going to help _you_.”

Rosa’s face only reddened further. “We’re gonna make sure Saint George’s Choir isn’t a problem anymore.”

“And what does the river goddess get out of this?” Dean eyed them both suspiciously. To be honest, he didn’t trust Rosa not to give away something that wasn’t hers.

Yemaya answered for Rosa. “Absolute devotion.”

“What, really?” Sam couldn’t believe the witch would be devoted to anything other than herself. Why on Earth would she pick Yemaya? What could possibly have transpired between the two of them that Rosa would even consider making such an offer?

But the woman gave a slow nod. “I have… promised to cut any ties with the Abrahamic God and with my father.” Who she’d still never met, so it wasn’t exactly a big deal since she didn’t want to see him. “And instead pledge my loyalty to Yemaya.”

“Why?!” asked both the Winchesters in unison.

Rosa let out a breath. “An alliance is the best way to stop the Choir. What they’re doing is wrong. The energy doesn’t belong to them, or to anyone. And they’re a threat to us. They still want to talk to Avli, and they’re most likely willing to kidnap her to do it. Are you willing to let that happen? Is Cas? Because I don’t know if I can protect you by myself.”

“Isn’t it just a bunch of humans, though?” Sam persisted. “Yeah, they can do some magic and sense energy, but that’s nothing compared to what you can do. Can’t you just—”

But Dean cut him off. “What do you mean, they’re planning to kidnap Avli?!”

“Don’t worry. That school you sent her to is a fortress, and you’re always there like half an hour early to pick her up. They’ll look for an easier opportunity or a more lowkey time to try and take her by force. In other words, she’s not really in danger right now.” Rosa walked over to Yemaya and stared at the mysterious box. “And no, I don’t think they’re as vulnerable as they look. I think they have an insane amount of resources at their disposal.”

Yemaya pushed the box towards her. “For you.”

Rosa smiled at her before opening the package. Inside, there was a small hatchet, surrounded in bubble-wrap. It had very similar markings to her sword, but it seemed to be made for throwing. She grinned from ear to ear. “This is amazing.” She held it up for everyone to see and turned it on with her special ability.

To everyone’s surprise—and the Winchesters’ horror—Rosa hugged Yemaya and thanked her for the gift. It was the kind of present a warrior would appreciate, and the goddess now understood that Rosa was one. She wanted to fight, pretty much all the time, so having a secondary powerful weapon would come in handy.

She turned it off, waited a moment, and then felt the warm metal with her thumb.

Sam was both intrigued and exhausted by the conversation. He felt deeply uncomfortable having a violent goddess in his kitchen, and he desperately wanted both her and Rosa to leave before Cas came home. “When are you planning to attack?”

The two women looked at each other and grinned. “Right now,” Rosa proclaimed. In the next instant, they were both gone, leaving only an empty box to show Yemaya had ever been there.

Not two minutes later, Cas came in through the front door, his arms full of fresh produce and sugary confections. He didn’t understand their fearful and angered expressions. They told him to sit down, and they explained it to him. He wasn’t all right for the rest of the day.

***

The Seattle Archdiocese was no fortified stronghold, at least not on the surface. Rosa and Yemaya simply walked in. No one stopped them at first. But as they advanced toward the globe that served as a physical protection of Earth’s energy, they were approached on two sides. One of the interceptors was Micah, whose office was adjacent to the orb. She didn’t recognize the other man. The former hailed her in an almost friendly manner, while the latter asked what they were doing there.

She inhaled deeply. Producing the hatchet, she powered it up and tossed it at the rotating metal. The blade lodged into the sphere. A quarter rotation later, it caught on a copper arch, causing the movement to grind to a stop. The screech alerted dozens of people within earshot. She used her power to rip the beautiful piece of artwork into shreds. It was more of a warning to the others not to approach than a needed act. Determined, she produced her sword and turned it on.

While nearly all of the spectators backed away, Micah and some of the men who kidnapped Sam continued their brave approach. “It was you,” the young priest said the obvious.

“No shit.” She began stripping away the magical protections one at a time. When the action began to tire her, she reached out and found the bluish source of power that stood beside her. It was open for use, and there was seemingly an endless supply of it. Yemaya placed her hand on Rosa’s shoulder to encourage the connection.

She dug through the barriers like stacks of heavy paper. The combination of her ability and her weapons—two being almost doubly effective as one—made the process slightly expedited. But it was still laborious. She physically hacked at the space where the blockades sat, wearing out her body as well as her magic.

But she pressed on. As she neared her goal, one of the grunts reached out to grab her, but Yemaya sent him flying across the room. His body hit the ground in a way that told everyone he wouldn’t be getting back up. Two more thugs attempted an intervention with the same result. Good, Rosa thought. They deserved real punishment for what they did to Sam, and most likely countless other innocent people.

Micah, conversely, inched forward, his hands raised to indicate that he wouldn’t be making physical contact. “Why are you doing this?”

“You hurt and threatened my friends. You plan to abduct their child. And you don’t deserve the energy in the first place. I’m taking it from you. It’s not yours anymore.” She cut into the final barrier and felt the energy spill out all over the floor. They would take it with them, and place it somewhere else—a natural location with trees or a lake or at least an open field. But first, they had to get at all of it.

Yemaya was the only one who could carry that much power, and she did so effortlessly. She siphoned the energy and compressed it into a ball. The goddess didn’t dare try and absorb any of it, at least not yet, since she too feared what Earth might do if the energy was disrespected. After all, if there could be a god to other, weaker deities, Earth was that god. And the power wasn’t intended for creatures like Yemaya. It was meant for human beings to help and heal themselves.

Before they left, Rosa had one final parting word for the young priest. “Try and stop us, and you’ll die. Is this place worth your life?”

With that, they left. The first deposit location was chosen because of its significance to them both: the exact spot where they met at the river in Nigeria. Yemaya scattered the energy like grass seeds while Rosa watched. The parts that landed in the water immediately sank to the riverbed, unaffected by the current. When she finished, the goddess turned to the witch and smiled wide, flashing bright white teeth. “Again?”

“Again.”

***

She could do only two or three raids at a time before her body, energy, and soul all needed rest. Still, in less than a week, they gutted Seattle’s stronghold and moved on to Portland. They would work their way down the west coast and then steadily eastward until the church had no energy deposits to defend. They would also check their new locations periodically to ensure they were left free and open for use by any witch or human energy user.

There were, of course, casualties. Some locations were barely defended—or abandoned, knowing what was coming—while others had small armies waiting. One man tried to throw hot oil on them, but Yemaya threw it back in their faces. Others used guns and knives and various human weapons, but all were thwarted. Some died. Some had their weapons crushed into scrap metal or their bones broken. Though Rosa knew that they would likely encounter something tougher, she counted her blessings for now. In September, they liberated four full archdioceses.

Fighting alongside Yemaya proved more rewarding than Rosa imagined. The goddess actually had a sense of humor. They joked about the day’s work. They chose dump locations together. They practically walked in synch. As the days pressed on, Rosa liked being around her more than she appreciated the downtime.

Unfortunately, however, rest was a necessary component. She spent an entire day at the end of the month on the couch, in and out of consciousness. Cas dragged her up to eat dinner.

“No one’s come to bother you, right?” she asked the group, squinting into the light of the kitchen. Roasted chicken and vegetables were on the menu tonight. The angel was a fantastic cook, and she needed to eat, so she couldn’t be too upset that her slumber had been interrupted. Plus, she hardly saw her mentor anymore, thanks to her new pet project and his role as a parent.

Sam looked over at her. “No.”

“Good.”

Dean wanted to point out that she’d been killing people and that the whole alliance with Yemaya was a terrible idea, but for Avli’s sake, he kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to talk about dead bodies over dinner. The little girl did have something to say on the matter, though. “Earth thinks you’re being weird, Miss Rosa.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“She likes that you’re moving the energy, and she thinks most of the places are good, but she doesn’t trust the lady you’re with. And she still thinks you’re gonna try and use all the energy.” She popped a small potato into her mouth and chewed it before continuing. “She doesn’t like that you’re hurting people either.”

Rosa shrugged. “We only hurt a few people who tried to hurt us.”

“So far,” the girl retorted. “And she says they wanna hurt you because you scare them.”

Cas cleared his throat, indicating that he expected the witch to end the conversation there. He didn’t cook all this food only to have everyone get upset and lose their appetites. He changed the subject. “I hear someone had her first big test this week.”

Avli’s face lit up and she nodded.

“Oh yeah? How’d you do?” came from Sam. The other two men already knew.

“I got all the answers right!” she proclaimed. It was a basic multiple-choice science test, but with the difficulty one would expect of a few grades higher. Still, Avli already knew half the answers. She did study for the rest (with help from Sam), though, and ended up getting all twenty questions correct. She was holding the test like a trophy when Dean picked her up earlier that day.

Overall, she was a fantastic student. A’s across the board. She’d already received an award for her penmanship, and everyone glowed about her at the first parent-teacher conference. Making friends was a little more difficult, but she did okay there, too. She had a little boy who followed her around like a puppy, and a couple of girls who sat with her at lunch. Any weirdness was chalked up to her recently coming from India, so bullying, at least for now, wasn’t really a problem. Her kindness toward others probably helped, too. She was likeable.

The only thing she wasn’t so good at was Gym, but Cas explained that she had an extended illness, and that slowly her strength was coming back. She still got winded on walks, so it wasn’t too surprising that she had trouble with running and sports. Being in a coma for more than a year meant her body was weakened. It wasn’t something Sam could fix, either. She just had to slowly build up muscle tissue again.

Bandhu helped with that. Chasing a dog around wasn’t an easy task, but Avli happily did so. Soon, her marks in Gym would improve as a result.

“That’s great, Avli,” Sam said to a round of agreement. “You worked really hard.”

Another big nod. “Math is gonna be harder, though.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll work on it together.”


	48. Crazy Love

Before Rosa could leave on her next adventure with Yemaya, Dean blocked her exit through the front door. Obviously, she could just leave anyway, but she decided to humor him. “What’s wrong?”

“You mean, other than everything you’ve been doing? Dude.”

“We haven’t even killed that many people,” she pointed out. “A few more got maimed, but let’s be honest, they deserved it.”

But he shook his head dismissively. “I don’t give a shit about them. They tried to kill Sam.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the deal with you and that creature? You’re practically attached at her hip. Salivating the who damn time. Like she’s something deserving of worship. Like _you_ worship her. What the hell, Rosa?”

“We’re friends.”

Dean snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how friends act.”

“Oh?”

“It’s how you act when you wanna fuck somebody,” came a voice from across the room. Cas. Avli was already at school, so he didn’t need to watch his language. “People turn into mush when they get near a person they really wanna have sex with—or be in a relationship with. Inside, it’s the fluttery feeling. Outside, it’s tripping and stuttering and not being able to articulate what you want. Sound familiar?”

She shook her head slowly. “Uh, no. No, you’re wrong. I’m not into women, and I never have been. Trust me, I considered it back when I first started coming to terms with you three.”

“Yeah, except Yemaya isn’t a woman,” Cas countered. “She might look like one, but she’s a powerful deity. She’s made of raw energy just like angels are. All you ever want is energy. It’s the only thing you talk about. What if you’re attracted to that? And the body just doesn’t matter?”

Rosa felt like she might pass out. The room spun a little, and she had to sit down. Without a word to the others, she picked up her phone, called Yemaya—who, indeed, had a cellphone number—and told her that she still wasn’t feeling up to par. She would need another day to recover. Sorry. She looked forward to kicking ass again tomorrow.

After the call ended, she sat there in silence for a really long time. Eventually, “I don’t like how that sounds.”

“Neither do we!” Dean blurted out.

But Cas waved in his direction, an indicator that he should calm down. “You hated carrying around her energy, though. What changed?”

She sighed. “I had nightmares where I—I ended up in her employ. Permanently. I thought they were real. I thought after I gave the energy back, I wouldn’t be returning. The exact opposite happened. She absolved me of responsibility and told me I did a good fucking job.” Her fingers began tapping on the wood of the kitchen table. “Then I went to see her again, to deal with Saint George’s Morons, and she appeared without any clothing on.”

“What?!” came from Dean.

“And a twelve-foot fish tail.” She laughed uneasily. “Yemaya has an unlimited supply of forms she’ll take. The only things that never change are her skin tone and her eyes.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re in love with an evil mermaid,” Dean continued his ranting, despite Cas’s insistence that he turn it down a notch.

Despite herself, Rosa rejected the wrong part of his statement. “She’s not evil. She doesn’t even hate angels anymore. She’s just—she’s like water. Sometimes it’s your best friend, sometimes it’s a storm surge.”

“And sometimes you wanna bang it?”

“Dean,” Cas intervened. “C’mon.”

But he simply turned his frustrations on his lover. “She almost killed you,” he insisted. “Before we ever had a chance of seeing each other upstairs. And then she turned you—into something you’re not. And I lost you. _She_ did that. Now our resident witch wants to go steady with that monster?! How the hell am I supposed to take that?”

Cas crossed the area between them and hugged Dean. “It’s not up to us.” Without letting him go, he turned to Rosa. “We can’t stop you.”

“Stop me from what?” she asked for her own benefit, not theirs. What the fuck did any of this even mean? She was attracted to power? But then why did she get so uncomfortable when she saw Yemaya half-naked? And why did she feel good whenever they made physical contact? Why did she want to be submissive to her, when she never wanted that in any situation ever?

“From hooking up with a demigod,” Dean supplied.

“I don’t—I’m not—What if she’s making me feel this way? She’s powerful.” And a fertility goddess. “What if it’s some kind of spell?”

Cas gave a light chuckle. “Expert opinion? I don’t think so. You don’t look spellbound. You look, well, aroused.”

Dean groaned. “Dude, gross.”

“But it started when I took the energy.”

“For all we know, accepting power from a goddess is foreplay.” Cas tried to simultaneously ease Dean’s mind with some humor and help Rosa. “I don’t know what a relationship with one would look like though. Sex might not even be on the table. Or at least, not in the way we think it could be.”

Rosa covered her mouth with one hand and quickly lost herself in thought. Did she want it to be available? Did she really want to be with Yemaya in that way? And what about that dream where she was pregnant? Was that even possible? Would she want it? More importantly, based on their past interactions, would she want whatever Yemaya wanted? Would she do whatever the goddess wanted her to do?

Why did her skin feel hot, just thinking about it? Why was her heart pounding in her chest?

“Why did you cancel on her?” Cas asked, breaking through her fog.

“I need time to think.”

Cas ushered Dean into the kitchen and sat him down. He poured him some coffee. “I think you already know everything. You just don’t know what to do with the information. I can’t tell you. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Maybe.

***

When she did see Yemaya again, she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. Oh no, she thought. A warm feeling rushed over her, and she imagined she must be blushing. When Yemaya asked if she was well-rested, Rosa nodded bashfully. “Good to go.”

They began dismantling the archdiocese of San Francisco. Unlike Seattle and Portland, the covered area was more like a giant province, stretching from Honolulu to Las Vegas and Salt Lake City. And the energy dotted seemingly random points between those areas in small but frequent amounts. They checked every church in the diocese. Only five actually protected energy. The rest were in strange places, such as the bottom of the ocean or the middle of a desert. It took six days of work to complete the task. Most of the areas were not guarded by actual people, despite the knowledge that they were coming. As a result, no one associated with the San Francisco chapter was killed.

Los Angeles was different. Nearly all the power lay concentrated in the city itself. Not only was it heavily guarded, the amount of power was simply too much for just one trip. In other words, they would alert the authorities and then leave, only to return to the hostile environment two more times. Bullets flew, and men attacked with all sorts of weaponry. One guy even had a katana. But their guns and blades became crushed spheres of metal. The lucky ones had their arms broken or were thrown somewhat gently. The unlucky ones got hit with their own projectiles. Some were torn apart by Yemaya’s sheer power or reduced to a bag of flesh with bone fragments cutting into major organs.

Every now and then, a non-attacking bystander—though always a member of the Choir—would get hurt by merit of standing next to the intended target. Neither Yemaya nor Rosa could find much sympathy in their hearts for them. If they really wanted to avoid damage, they wouldn’t get so close.

Each location was unique. Some were denotated with statues or special symbols on the floor, while others weren’t marked at all. One was a street corner tagged with Christian graffiti.

By the time they finished with L.A., they’d amassed more power than both women carried naturally—combined. They also left a trail of bodies. Eighteen for this archdiocese. Around thirty total. They had no idea how many were permanently wounded.

At the end of the last week in California, Rosa was more than exhausted. She could barely stand upright and would need significant time to recover. At one of their drop sites, the side of the dormant volcano Mauna Kea, her legs buckled beneath her, and she nearly took a long tumble. But Yemaya caught her, not with magic or energy but her own two arms. She braced herself with a wide stance and held onto the witch firmly. “Whoa now. Stay with me.”

Rosa looked at her from under drooping eyelids. “Where would I go?”

“I’m going to take you home.”

“I’d rather stay with you,” she found herself saying. Something about the extensive energy use or maybe just the exhaustion removed any kind of filter she had. “I’d really like to stay with you.”

Yemaya smiled down at her and caressed her cheek. “Soon.”

She passed out before the conversation could continue. When she awoke again, it was three a.m., and she lay on her sofa in the house in Seattle. “Fuck,” she said to the dark room. No one answered.

***

Rosa had four whole days to think about her predicament as she recovered. The cat was out of the bag now, though perhaps Yemaya had known for some time how her cohort felt. She was, after all, a powerful goddess. Matters of love and attraction might be as clear to her as multiplication and division were to an adult human. But Rosa didn’t have a good handle on it. She knew what she felt—a level of devotion she thought impossible, along with reverence and loyalty and an irritating neediness. She really did want to spend all of her time with Yemaya. Even the resting. They could just sit with each other and talk.

Or not talk.

God damn it, she didn’t want to think about that, and yet, the idea kept coming up. Sex. Intimacy. Anything that could bring them even closer. The thought repulsed her and enticed her at the same time. She really didn’t feel anything for women’s bodies, and to be honest very little for men, but she knew she would accept any kind of connection Yemaya wanted. Rosa wanted to give up control.

No other person or creature had ever made Rosa feel this way. Not even a little. It terrified her. It excited her. She craved more.

Alone in the dead of night, she gave into her situation, if only in private. She pictured Yemaya’s most recent form—tried to combine it with the half-nude version from the river—and reached between her own legs.

Masturbation was both normal and rare to Rosa. She did it whenever the mood struck and found nothing unusual about it (except this time, of course), but she usually had other interests. The last time was weeks or even months ago. She couldn’t remember. But not once had the subject of her fantasies been a woman. Until now, as a beautiful black woman with god-tier abilities captured her imagination. She thought not only of the human-like form but of her power and how it felt to keep it inside herself.

Rosa slipped two fingers in and used her thumb for real stimulation. Her lips parted. She tried to relax.

It didn’t work at first. Too many conflicting feelings and thoughts. But when she adjusted her approach—tried to picture Yemaya using her mouth in the most intimate of ways—Rosa felt her body begin to clench, her muscles tightening, her heart racing. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she came. Exhaling, she removed her hand. She lay there for a little while, enjoying the internal contractions and the rush of warmth. Eventually, she got up and cleaned herself off in the ground-level bathroom.

Her mind began to turn to how strange and wrong it was to get off on a female friend who happened to be a powerful goddess. But she vanquished the train of thought for now. She felt too good. And Yemaya knew what Rosa wanted. Why else would she say that they would be together soon?

And she wanted that now, more than ever. God, she needed it.

As she slipped back into slumber, she thought how nice it would be if she didn’t have to take care of herself sexually… or sleep alone.

***

Before they could see each other again, a roadblock appeared at the door. It was Micah, unarmed and alone. Unlike Emmanuel, he kept his priestly garb, but he looked uncomfortable in it. As though he didn’t want to be seen associated with the church.

Rosa insisted on answering the door herself, telling Sam and Cas—the only other people in the house—to stay out of sight. When he saw her, he took an involuntary step backward.

“Was my threat not clear enough?”

He blinked. “I’m not here to hurt anyone, or try.”

“Then why show up here?”

Micah shifted his weight out of nervousness and clasped his hands together. “I came to ask you to stop what you’re doing. Not demand, just ask. I don’t know who your powerful friend is or really why you’re doing this, but a lot of people are getting hurt. More than you know.” He put his head down. “Wherever you appear, our sensitives go into fits. Full-on seizures in some cases. One had a heart attack and died. They’re all asking to be transferred.”

He gulped. Continuing, “Many of our employees and even some clergy have fled. They would rather forsake the church and lose their paychecks than face you. Most of them, we can’t even find. They’re scattered to the wind. You’ve only destroyed a handful of archdiocese out of six hundred and forty, but already the Choir is on its knees. If you were trying to wound us, you’ve succeeded.”

“I’m not going to stop,” she said plainly.

But Micah wasn’t finished. It took all day for him to work up the courage to come here. He wasn’t going to leave until he said his peace—or she made him. “You should. Desperate people do desperate things. We have things in our vaults that we swore oaths never to even touch. But there are already plans to try and use them against you and your friend. I don’t know who, where, or when, but they’ll be waiting for you at one of the sites.”

“Nothing you have can stop us. My friend is a goddess. Literally.” And figuratively, it seemed.

He nodded. “We feared as much. And we know that your personal strength rivals one. But are you sure there is nothing on this Earth that can kill either one of you? It’s above my paygrade. I don’t know what we do and don’t have. They won’t tell me. Half of the higher ups think I’m compromised, simply because we’ve spoken before. But I know they believe that they can take you out. They’re gonna try, if you keep this up.”

“Why are you telling me this? You’ve just given me another advantage. We’re going to continue, and now we know to look for special weaponry while we do it.”

“I hoped to appeal to your humanity. We’re just people trying to protect the world from evil. You’re killing us. You’re killing my friends.”

“You wanna stop the deaths, Micah? Tell your friends to vacate the energy sources. Tell them not to fight back. Take your energy-sensing folks as far from the sites as you can. And keep your fucking magic weapons packed away. We haven’t intentionally killed anyone who didn’t attack us, and that will remain true. For now. I think you can imagine what might happen if an all-out assault is attempted.”

“They won’t listen to me. They don’t even know I’m here.”

She tilted her head. “Then God help them.”

With a wave, she wandered back into the house and shut the door. From a secure position, she watched the priest loiter for a minute or so before finally leaving. Rosa signaled to the others that everything was okay. When Cas and Sam emerged, she explained that the Choir had entered the begging stage, and that they wouldn’t be a threat to the three or their little girl. Yemaya and the witch were taking up all their time.

***

When they met up again, it was to tackle the archdioceses in Texas.

Everything went normally. Up to and including the way Yemaya treated her. The goddess acted as though nothing happened. As though Rosa hadn’t practically declared love. The non-action disappointed her. She wanted something to happen now. She really did. Hell, she wanted it more than the mission.

But the mission let her be with Yemaya for hours at a time. For now, that would have to be enough.

As the weeks passed, they made their way eastward across the United States, dismantling each of the thirty-two provinces—some, the size of entire states or bigger. It would take months before they finished the U.S., and possibly years before they completely wiped the Earth clean of Saint George’s Choir and its work. Yemaya offered to do some of the jobs on her own, during Rosa’s down time, but the witch refused, at least for now. They were in this together. And she liked it that way.

Slow was preferable to finishing early, she thought. But her interest in closeness with Yemaya clouded her judgement. As Micah predicted, the pacing gave their opponents time to formulate a real defense.

In Austin, which served as Rosa’s home town to an extent, a grunt rushed them with a golden spear. They’d protected him with several dozen barriers—too many to destroy in one go by either woman—and the weapon itself radiated its own energy. Yemaya recognized it from experience, but only Rosa knew its name. The Spear of Destiny. Said to have pierced Jesus’s flesh during crucifixion, it supposedly contained some of his power. It was like a man-made angel sword.

But the man made a single grave error. The goddess stood between him and Rosa, so he stabbed her instead. The spear tip pierced her in the back and out through the stomach. She barely flinched.

Though she could not kill him in one blow, she could shove him away. He crashed into several comrades. Yemaya slowly pulled the blade out from behind her, then extended it outward to show everyone what she and Rosa already knew. They’d just handed the Spear of Destiny to a powerful deity, and pissed her off in the process. She wasn’t angry because her human form got damaged, she was angry because the blow was meant for Rosa. And she wholly intended to ensure everyone here knew it.

The wound bled a little as it closed before Rosa’s eyes. When it finished, there wasn’t even a cut in Yemaya’s shirt. She hardly seemed to notice. Instead, she approached the man who attacked them, spun the spear in her hand for effect, and then jumped into the air. She drove the blade through every one of his protective barriers—straight into his eye. As she pulled it out, a line of blood splattered on the nearby clergy.

But they didn’t get a chance to be disgusted. She cut two of their throats in one swift movement, stabbed another in the gut, and chopped a clerk’s head clean off. By the time Rosa thought to say anything, her partner had killed half the room. Only the women in her path were spared. Because she was the goddess of women. Even ones she despised.

And anyway, most of the ladies were already trying to get away. They weren’t a threat, at least not this time. The men, on the other hand, were fair game to the goddess.

“Maya,” Rosa called to her in a low voice, unwilling to use her full name for fear it might be utilized in spells to summon her. “Maya, we don’t need a bloodbath today!”

The deity reared back from her latest kill and looked at Rosa. The tempest behind her eyes calmed, and she lowered the weapon. Most of her forearm and the entire length of the blade dripped with blood. She didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “You want me to stop?”

Rosa nodded emphatically. “We’re here for the energy.”

“They tried to harm you, Rosa.”

The amount of caring in her voice threw the witch off-guard. But it was certainly appreciated. “I know. But let’s get what we came for, okay? They’re not gonna stop us.”

Yemaya looked around the room. The blood and destruction. The cowering remnants. It didn’t faze her. But she handed over the spear and returned to Rosa’s side. With a bloodied hand, she brushed back some of Rosa’s hair. “We should take the weapon. It could be useful.”

She gave another nod. It might serve a purpose. Right now. Wiping the blood off on her jeans, she approached the marker—a reproduced statue of a fallen angel fighting with a serpent. Her movement ability was required to get the job done, so she used it to force the blade into the marble. That action created a crack that she then exploited. A little push formed a spider web of new fissures. A small earthquake brought the whole thing down.

With the help of her companion’s energy, Rosa ripped open the barriers. Yemaya scooped up the glowing green power, and the two of them departed before the pools of blood could reach their shoes.


	49. Even Better Than the Real Thing

The spear, once properly cleaned, was added to the Winchesters’ arsenal. They reckoned that it could take out low-level angels. Possibly Rosa. And any number of creepy crawlies. It was specifically given to Sam, since the bastards beat him up. While it could attract more unwanted attention, it also made them sleep better at night.

Any future weapons were promised to them, as well. Anything a human could use, so could the trio, and Rosa had no problem using the spoils of her war to help protect her friends. They may not agree with what she was doing—now or ever—but she would not forget that they took her in all those years ago, and to this day still allowed her to live with them. She would defend them against any and all evils. Avli’s presence only encouraged this sentiment.

The girl was beginning to have a somewhat normal life. She spent time with friends (other than Earth) and seemed to enjoy their company. Her extensive knowledge helped in pretty much every academic subject, and she always came home with tales of fun things that happened at recess.

And her parents couldn’t be happier. All three were alive and together. And they further united in bringing up Avli. Cas was just amazing with her. He fell into the role like he was always meant to be a father. Dean had more trouble because of his PTSD, but he lived for that girl. The highlights of his day were when he dropped her off at school in the morning, picked her up, and read to her at night. Even Sam, who still took a more subdued role, loved the kid. He helped with her schoolwork and could spend hours just talking to her. The trio adored their new life, and they wanted to continue on for as long as possible.

When Rosa was around, she watched them function as a family. She saw how much attention they gave Avli, how they really listened to what she had to say. She noticed their patience and caring. She couldn’t help but think that this odd arrangement was far better than what many children received from their own parents. Even Rosa’s grandmother could never have given her this amount of dedication, though she certainly tried.

What it all amounted to was four people being incredibly happy, despite everything they’d been through. They did everything they wanted. Sam would head to local hospitals and heal the sick. Dean worked on their car like he once did the Impala. And Cas ensured all three of them had personal time, too.

Along those lines, they built up their fake lives to reflect what they enjoyed. The angel was a stay-at-home dad with a sizeable inheritance, while Dean ostensibly worked as a mechanic when he felt like it. Sam’s existence as a permanent member of the household was played down—he wasn’t even mentioned to Avli’s school, for instance—but if asked, he would say he helped around the house and occasionally babysat. He was a close family friend. He slept on the couch. If anyone saw Rosa, she was Sam’s girlfriend who sometimes stayed the night.

Obviously, the healer didn’t love pretending, but he wanted their relatively calm life to continue on, and at the end of the day, he still got to have Dean and Cas. He still shared a bed with them. He still loved them. That was what mattered. And Avli was a fantastic bonus. Whatever happened in the long run, he couldn’t predict, but he liked what they had now. He liked their life.

The other two made sure to include him whenever possible. Individually, they even went on dates, provided it wasn’t too obvious, or had a little romance in public, so long as there weren’t many witnesses. Seattle was an accepting town. Two guys having dinner together didn’t attract attention. As such, no one noticed when Sam and Cas went to a fancy place or the Dean and the angel grabbed a burger together.

There was something nice about being fully public, if only with one third of their relationship. Cas and Dean were official. They had a kid and a house and a public life. For appearances, they wore a matching set of plain rings—Cas’s idea—which led others to assume they were married. But Sam had a ring, too. He wore it on a necklace inside his shirt. Sometimes, Rosa caught him touching it when he was particularly happy. It served as a physical reminder of his lovers that he carried around, a cheap but symbolic version of the soulmate bond and healing power.

Surely, the situation wasn’t perfect. Sam was left out a lot of the time. But he knew it wouldn’t always be that way, and it hadn’t. In their past life, he was the center of attention. They molded their existences around his interest in healing hunters. They did what _he_ wanted. And in Heaven, they were all equals. When they died again—hopefully not for a very, very long time—he could have it all. It wasn’t so much about accepting a lesser role but having the patience needed to endure it. He could do that.

Seeing his lovers happy only fueled his interest in this arrangement. Dean always wanted to put a ring on Cas’s finger, long before Sam was ever romantically involved with either one of them. Now he got his wish.

Well, partially. When Dean went to get a ring the first time, it was an impulsive move that didn’t involve any real planning. He just wanted Cas to know he was serious. He wanted him to stick around. Obviously, he didn’t need a piece of metal to have that stuff today. His angel would always be with him. But there was a lot of time between then and now. He imagined all sorts of things for them and their future. On multiple occasions, he briefly considered children and largely thought of marriage. Of getting married. Of the actual ceremony.

He imagined the two of them (sometimes Sam, too) standing at the altar. Usually outside, somewhere green. Light breeze. Early Autumn or late Spring. Carefully prepared vows, written and rewritten in his head a thousand times. His hand shaking as he slid the ring onto Cas’s finger. How perfect his partner would look.

Whether Sam was there or in the audience, Dean pictured his face, too. He’d be so happy and proud. Proud of them or proud of being with them, depending on the fantasy.

Dean had a lot of free time and a pretty vivid imagination. His mind wandered whenever he drove for long periods of time or while working on a car, when he took a shower solo, or right before falling asleep at night. He thought about everything from hunts and missions to the future and his romantic life. But marrying Cas was a persistent daydream. And he thought about it whenever he saw anything wedding-related, provided that nothing more important was going on.

Of course, it stopped being a real goal along the way. Just something he carried around with him, like a picture in his wallet. The rings brought the imagery roaring back, and now it dominated his thinking. How great would it be if they actually had a ceremony? Nothing too fancy. Nothing expensive. Just a real wedding. Maybe Bobby and Ellen and a few others would be there. It could be just him and Cas for now. Make it official. Or they could find an open-minded officiant and include Sam (under his new identity, where he and Dean weren’t related) for something symbolic. The second option would deny them legal status, but it’d feel more honest.

But he didn’t have the courage to ask just yet. He kept the idea on his mind and waited for the best moment. For now, he and Cas would simply wear their rings and pretend. Sam’s jewelry waited for even safer times, next to his heart.

***

“I love you.”

Rosa stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for at least twenty minutes, saying the words over and over. The last one, “I love you, Maya,” was said with sadness, as she knew she wouldn’t say it in person any time soon. Too big of a risk. Too much at stake.

She reluctantly got ready for the day.

Once again, they found themselves in a city Rosa once called home: Philadelphia. The old archbishop—the one they’d bribed to help with their demon problem—wasn’t a member of the Choir. He had no idea what was going on under his roof. She would have told him about it personally, but some quick recon proved a discussion impossible. He was dead and had been for two years. Stroke. The new guy, a proud Choir leader, seemed to be some transplant from a European diocese. He didn’t even know the man he replaced.

Thankfully, Rosa and her companion faced very little resistance, only pleas for them to leave and some cursing. And they lucked out with Pennsylvania in general. The energy proved plentiful and poorly guarded. In a few cases, they only moved the power a mile or so to a more remote location. It took just two days to clear the state, thanks to the ease of extraction and transfers. At the end, Rosa felt decent. She didn’t want to go home.

A snow flurry danced around them, but the air wasn’t terribly cold and the stuff melted upon impact with the ground. At the middle of November, the relative warmth was surprising. Rosa hated cold weather, but she didn’t hate snow. “This is a blessing from Earth,” Yemaya announced into the silence. “Bringing water here. She approves of our work.”

“Avli would say so.” At first, Earth was rightfully suspicious, but she’d grown accustomed to the redistribution and enjoyed the newfound access to her pools of energy. Humans of all kinds could use the liberated power, which was the point of them in the first place.

“And you?”

“I’d say it’s nice seeing it with you.” She wasn’t sure if the statement was too bold or not. Part of her didn’t care while the other agonized over it.

Yemaya laughed, but it wasn’t dismissive. She sounded flattered. “Why is that?”

She blinked. “I, uh—I enjoy your company. Really enjoy your company.” May as well go for it. The goddess already knew how she felt, right? She had to. So, actually talking about it was just proper procedure. Mechanics.

“I _had_ noticed. You do not hide your emotions well.”

Rosa straightened her back. “I don’t have anything to hide from you.” She made eye contact but quickly looked away. Gulping, “Being with you makes me happy. Fulfilled.” Excited. Aroused. And painfully anxious.

“Just being near me?” Another laugh. “Humans have that reaction, but you are not human.”

“I’m not talking about religious devotion, Maya.” She’d taken up the nickname—which happened to be one of the goddess’s lesser known pseudonyms—since that day in Austin. Yemaya didn’t seem to mind. “Though you can have that, too. I don’t just revere you. I _adore_ you. I think you know that already. You know how I feel.”

Yemaya took a step closer as Rosa’s heart skipped a beat. “Tell me. Tell me yourself.”

It came as naturally as late-Fall breeze. She didn’t stop to think or to analyze, and she did nothing to try and prevent it. What she thought might require a year of emotional work took only days. “I love you. I love you, Maya.”

Rosa froze in place as the deity walked closer.

Eventually, “I know what that means to a human, but what does it mean to you?”

“The same. Except I get to walk beside you, when they could only dream of that. I get to know you. And because of that I know I’m not your equal. But you speak to me like I am, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.” She wanted to reach out, to touch her hand or her arm or anywhere really. But she didn’t dare.

Her face was unreadable. “I speak to you with respect, Rosa.”

“You can’t love without respect.”

Yemaya paced toward her until there were only inches between them. “What about me do you love?”

Everything. “I’m drawn to you. I’ve seen you in different forms, and I’ve fallen for each one. You’re beautiful and unpredictable and powerful. You’re not afraid of me, and I don’t have to lie to you about who and what I am. I don’t have to lie to you at all.” And she didn’t even want to. She wouldn’t. To Yemaya, she could be an open book. “I’m not even into women. Or at least I wasn’t. But I feel like shit when I’m not around you.”

The goddess leaned down. Her lips were agonizingly close, and Rosa could feel her breath. Technically, Yemaya didn’t need to breathe, but in her most humanlike form, she did so anyway. Partly for authenticity. Perhaps also for Rosa’s comfort. “How do you feel now?”

She inhaled sharply. It took effort to answer. “Amazing.”

Yemaya’s hands touched the sides of Rosa’s legs and then gradually drifted up to her hips. “How about now?”

Before Rosa could answer, the goddess kissed her deeply. She immediately returned the gesture and held her by the cheek. Yemaya pulled Rosa closer, until their bodies pressed against each other. They kissed passionately for several minutes as the snow fell around them. Rosa thought she tasted just a hint of salt. When the deity pulled away, her partner’s mouth hung open, as though she no longer knew what to do with it. Inevitably, the question came again. “How about now?”

The witch smiled bashfully. “Unbelievable.”

Yemaya pressed her forehead against Rosa’s. “But you believe in me.” When she nodded, “Now will you trust me?”

“Yes.” Fuck yes.

In the next instant, they were somewhere else. A sort of palace room with no walls, only pillars. Thin fabric fluttered between them. Beyond, she could see the ocean far down below. They were high atop some kind of mountain or outcropping. She smelled the pure and clean seawater.

The center of the “room” contained a gigantic bed, made up with blue silk sheets and pillows. Tables nearby were covered in white flowers, shells, and food from in and around the ocean. Lobster, roasted fish, seaweed, coconuts, pineapples, conch, and more. White pitchers held half a dozen different fruit juices, and an unlabeled bottle of bubbly wine sat on ice.

“Offerings?” Rosa couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes, but not to me.” She wandered over to the table, selected a tangerine, and tossed it over to the witch. “Any woman worthy of my bed is worthy of worship, for we are equals.”

Rosa couldn’t accept what she just heard. How could they be equals? Yemaya had so much more energy, and millions of followers. Rosa had three guys who kinda relied on her and half the energy of an archangel. Nothing to sniff at. But certainly not god status. It wasn’t even a contest. Yemaya could kill her with a thought.

But she chose not to. She chose to spend hours per day, several days a week, in Rosa’s company. Never more than a few steps to the side, sometimes touching. And now? Now she wanted what Rosa wanted. She intended on making the witch her equal, on treating her as such. Maybe even loving her. She brought her here, not only to have sex but to consummate Rosa’s position as a demigod in the goddess’s mind. As far as she was concerned, Rosa deserved the perks of being worshipped.

The witch could hardly process this information, in part because her brain was fogged with arousal. She almost didn’t care about any of this extra shit. She didn’t come here to ascend into a position of authority. Far from it. She just wanted to be with her.

Yemaya seemed to sense her distress. She moved over to her, took the fruit, and rolled it in the general direction of the table. Without a word, she kissed her again, softly at first and then less so. Rosa’s pants were open before she even realized it, and the deity touched her. The free hand reached up into her shirt, slid under her bra, and gripped one of her breasts. Rosa tried to assist, but she didn’t really know what was expected of her. She’d never been with a woman before. Never even seriously considered it until meeting Maya. How would she adequately contribute? How could she make a literal goddess climax?

“Maya,” she breathed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She smiled and pushed Rosa onto the bed. “You don’t need to. I can teach you so many things. Try to relax, Rosa. I will show you what it means to feel like a goddess.”

Relax? How the hell could she relax? She was being groped by the most powerful being she’d ever met—and enjoying it! All the goddess did so far was a little rubbing, but the small amount of labor translated into overwhelming satisfaction. Already, she felt herself becoming wet. The skin beneath Yemaya’s fingers tightened. She got goosebumps on her chest and arms. And it wasn’t from the cool ocean air.

Not knowing what else to do, she awkwardly twisted and turned until her shirt was off. The bra followed. She kissed Yemaya and held onto her until her mouth moved to Rosa’s cheek, then neck, then downward. Her tongue worked expertly, even on spots that Rosa never considered sexual, like her collarbone and jaw. When it made its way to her breast however, she couldn’t help but let out a moan.

She bit into her own bottom lip as Yemaya worked diligently. And she tried not to squirm. All the while, the goddess’s hands never stopped caressing her. Gently and slowly. A light touch in strong contrast with the ferocity with which she approached the kissing.

Yemaya easily removed Rosa’s jeans but left the final piece of cloth on for now. Still, her fingers—already touching the skin there—continued their work and advanced, with one and then two sliding inside her. Rosa calmed herself enough to open her partner’s blouse. She ran her hands over the bare skin and tried not to ask herself why the hell it turned her on. In her current position, she couldn’t remove Maya’s fluffy skirt completely, but she could pull it down halfway to her knees. She marveled at how beautiful her naked body truly was.

And how human it looked. She had stretch marks on her thighs and a healthy amount of hair rising from between her legs. Her breasts drooped a little, as most women’s did, and she had a somewhat round stomach. While Yemaya easily outpaced Rosa in attractiveness—at least according to the witch—she obviously chose a natural form. Nothing about her current physical body couldn’t easily belong to a human.

Rosa tentatively touched her at the pelvis, felt how soft she was. She ran her hand down the deity’s leg and let it rest just above the skirt. She thought she should do more, but as Yemaya kissed her way down to Rosa’s stomach, all she could do was hold onto the bed. Ecstasy overtook her as Maya reached her destination. She pulled down the cloth just enough. Then, she used her mouth and fingers in concert to bring Rosa increasingly closer to the best orgasm of her life.

In ecstasy, Rosa closed her eyes. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even move except to grip the sheets and involuntarily tighten the muscles in her legs and abdomen. Her breathing turned rapid, a match for the beating of her heart. When her toes curled, her body could take no more. She came in a flourish of muscle contractions. Satisfaction times three: internal, external, and mental. The perfect climax.

Yemaya _felt_ her orgasm, relished in it. Eventually, she removed herself and sat back on the bed. She licked her lip just once, but the simple act was too much for Rosa to bear. She’d never felt better. Not even close. A goddess just got her off.

It took a little while, but she forced herself to sit up. “Come here.” It was more of a question than an order.

The deity obliged. She took a position lying on her right side, next to Rosa, propping her head up with one arm. The free hand traced random patterns on the witch’s skin. Throwing caution to the wind, Rosa kissed her and tasted herself as a result. It wasn’t as bad as she feared. There was something exciting about it. Maybe a sense of accomplishment, too.

“You are my equal,” Yemaya reminded her. “And you’re beautiful.”

She needed a few moments to respond. “If I’m your equal, I should make you just as happy as I am right now.” She touched her shoulder, but didn’t go beyond that. Rosa had no confidence in her ability to return the favor, either identically or in any way. She was used to men, who came easily—typically first. They rarely knew how to give her a great time. Yemaya did it like it was nothing.

The goddess flashed a big smile. “You already have.”

Sure, some people really enjoyed giving others an orgasm, but it wasn’t the same thing. It wasn’t direct. She wanted to give Maya the same level of passion she’d just experienced, and she certainly thought she deserved it. “No, I mean, like what just happened. You should get that, too.”

Yemaya kissed her sweetly. “They’ll be plenty of time for that. But I have to admit, I just want to look at you, in this instant.”

“You _will_ let me, though, right?”

“Yes.” Another kiss. “Of course.”


	50. House of the Rising Sun

They still had a job to do. But obviously now, there was an extra component. During the missions, the two were closer, often holding hands during the power transmission. They exchanged a peck now and then, sometimes in full view of the clergy. Why not let the bastards know what they were up against? The two were unstoppable.

In their down time, they began to meet for recreational purposes. Either after a battle—in what Rosa would discover was a palace belonging to Yemaya—or in secret at the house. In two weeks, though, only Rosa reached climax. It seemed like her partner either didn’t want to or couldn’t. But who was she to complain? Being catered to—it felt good. More so knowing that the person doing it was a powerful deity. And she used enough different approaches that it never got boring.

Not that having sex with a literal goddess could ever be boring.

Perhaps an even more fulfilling change, however, was when they didn’t immediately jump in bed. Sometimes they just talked or got close without doing much. At the end of a particularly long day, Rosa indicated she was too tired for an exciting session. She went home, drew herself a bath, and settled in. She closed her eyes. Maybe even drifted off for a moment. But when she opened them again, Yemaya was wrapped around the end of the tub, her fingers dangling in the water.

She smiled when Rosa noticed her. “Want company?”

The witch assessed the tub with a hint of skepticism. It was an old cast-iron thing with ornamental feet. Bigger than most modern ones, which were usually built into the wall. But would it be big enough for two people? She brought her knees up to her chest and nodded sleepily. “Sure.”

Yemaya wore only a semi-transparent gown, which she shed like nothing. More elegantly than would seem possible, she stepped into the bath and took a similar position facing her. Their feet touched. Once she settled in, the water temperature returned to the warmth that Rosa originally sought. One of the goddess’s many talents.

“Turn around,” she instructed. When Rosa complied, narrowly avoiding slipping and settling into her arms, Yemaya began carefully massaging her back and shoulders. “Your muscles are sore from overwork.”

She relaxed under her touch. Closing her eyes again, “This is nice.”

The goddess kissed the side of Rosa’s head, near her temple. “You deserve to rest, Rosa. I will be here with you whenever you want me. But I insist.”

She turned her head enough to look at the deity. “You’re worried?”

“Of course. I don’t see a reason why you should be in pain. What we’re doing is important, but I do not enjoy seeing you suffer in any way.” Yemaya wrapped one arm around her and held her close. “You’re too important.”

“Important how?”

“To me.”

Rosa smiled, even though she didn’t understand it. Why would a goddess, who didn’t have to get tired or hurt or give a shit about human problems, be so concerned about hers? No matter how many times Yemaya said they were equals, Rosa knew they weren’t. Her power eclipsed the witch’s. And Rosa wasn’t even whole! She was a cobbled-together creature. She had no purpose in life. She wasn’t created to do anything. No one worshipped her.

Well, maybe somebody did.

All this talk of equality could be a guise. Maybe Maya knew they would never be the same—but she didn’t care. Maybe she wanted someone to worship, someone who was willing to do the same. Mutual devotion. Love, demigod style.

“Do you love me?” she asked, already knowing the answer. She’d said it to Yemaya in the beginning, and she meant it, but only now could she be sure the goddess felt the same.

“I do.”

After the words hung in the air for a while, Yemaya continued. “Not as I love my followers. Not as I love Earth. Not as I have ever loved anyone.” She rested her chin on Rosa’s shoulder. In a low voice, “You’re unique. I could never have imagined meeting you. Now I can’t exist without you. Of course I love you, Rosa. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

She had to stop herself from crying. That was one hell of a declaration. No one had ever come close to saying anything like that to her. Because no one ever cared that much. Obviously, Maya didn’t necessarily talk like normal people. She was capable of it, but with Rosa she tended to sound more distant and profound at the same time. It seemed closer to her real self. Rosa grew accustomed to it. But on this subject, it got to her in the best way.

“I feel the same, Maya,” was all she could reply. She leaned against her and slipped down a little in the water.

They stayed relatively silent for the rest of the bath, which lasted nearly an hour thanks to her companion reheating the water. When Rosa reluctantly got out, Yemaya kissed her softly and disappeared.

She stood in the empty bathroom, halfheartedly drying herself with a white towel. She felt both fulfilled like never before and a little lonely. In a perfect world, she could retire to a real bedroom, and Maya would be waiting there. She may have been too worn out for a romp, but falling asleep in her partner’s arms—it’d be absolutely wonderful.

With a yawn, she donned a pair of pajamas, wandered into the living room, and settled in on the couch. She fell asleep that night under the glow of the TV screen.

***

When she awoke, Avli was standing over her, holding a small pot. It overflowed with brightly colored succulent plants. Rosa squinted into the light. Midmorning. Saturday. She slept right through breakfast. Groaning, she tried and failed to get up. “What’s going on?” she asked as a headache began to form.

“Dad went to the store, and he hasn’t been back for a long time. Dean went to go look for him.” She sniffed.

That woke her up. She sat upright and brushed some hair back so she could see better. “Where’s Sam?”

“Helping at the hospital.”

Rosa patted the cushion next to her to indicate that Avli should have a seat. “How long has he been gone?” And why the fuck would Dean just leave her here with sleeping Rosa? Why wouldn’t he wake her and have _her_ go find Cas? Now she couldn’t even help, because she sure as hell wasn’t gonna abandon the kid or bring her into danger.

Maybe his PTSD was the culprit. He panicked. Didn’t take his meds, or they weren’t working. Could be anything. If his illness was responsible, she couldn’t really fault him. Avli wasn’t alone, technically. And Dean couldn’t handle losing people, even temporarily.

“Three hours ago, Miss Rosa.” She crawled up onto the sofa and hugged the potted plant like a stuffed animal.

“And Dean?”

“Umm, a few minutes. I’m dunno.” The girl looked like she might start crying any minute.

Rosa didn’t often deal with kids, but she wasn’t a moron. Common sense told her that the truth wouldn’t be as important as making Avli feel better. “Oh, that’s not long at all. I’m sure everything’s fine. The car probably just broke down, and he forgot to charge his phone or something. It’s a really old car. A lot older than you are.”

Unconvinced, “Dad doesn’t go away for that long anymore.” Since he stopped working with the Choir, he was a fulltime father.

The witch couldn’t help but notice the change in name. No longer was he “Cas,” and certainly not “Mr. Castiel.” She really was calling him her dad now. Along those lines, Rosa strongly suspected that Dean would get a similar name soon. After all, he was almost as involved in Avli’s life as Cas was.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen to him,” Rosa insisted.

Another sniff. “Can you ask your friend to help us?” said the tiny voice. “Dean could get hurt, too.”

She blinked in disbelief at the request—but could find no fault in the logic. Rosa could use the help. And at this point, Maya would do anything for her, including a potential rescue of an angel she once almost murdered. The trio wouldn’t be happy to see the goddess, but they’d get over it.

“Yeah, uh, sure, Avli. Just let me get dressed, and I’ll call her.”

After a little self-care, she brushed her teeth before dialing the number. Yemaya would probably show up if Rosa essentially prayed to her, but that seemed a little weird given their unique relationship. Phones were not an alien concept, and Maya gave her number to only one person. Speaking out of earshot of the little girl, “I think the Choir has Castiel.”

They’d nearly eradicated all of the energy protection sites in the U.S., but the majority of the people were left alive. Most weren’t a threat. Some, inevitably, would be.

“You need my assistance?”

“I’m stuck with Avli. Both the Winchesters are MIA. Sam is at one of the hospitals—I don’t know which one—and Dean went after Cas. I assume it’s the Seattle people, but it could be anyone with the church.”

“You want me to retrieve him.”

“I’d rather go with you.”

There was a pause. “Alright. We will bring the child to Sam Winchester first, then go together. I’ll find him.” The line went dead. In the time it took to breathe in and out just once, Yemaya did the job and appeared about a foot or so in front of Rosa. She kissed her in front of an unfazed Avli. “He’s at Virginia Mason, pretending to be an orderly in the ICU.”

Lately, Sam had to get creative to maximize his helping of others. Sometimes he convinced Rosa to drop him off in another city, or he’d take a bus for a long day trip. In the local hospitals, he concealed his identity in order to make multiple trips. He had outfits that convincingly made him look like a doctor, nurse, or staff member. He bought himself a shiny new stethoscope, and he often wore a surgical mask. Sam had the whole thing down to a science. It would be creepy if he wasn’t there to save people’s lives.

Rosa walked over to Avli and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re gonna go see Sam now, okay? And me and my friend are gonna make sure your dad gets home safe.”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay, Miss Rosa.”

The witch did this part by herself. She flew the girl into an empty car in the parking lot. They exited and walked calmly into the hospital. The two sat in the intensive care waiting room for about ten minutes before Rosa caught a glimpse of Sam as he rushed out one of the doors. She cleared her throat loud enough for him to pause and look at her. His eyes widened. He took off his mask and strode over to both of them.

“What’s going on?”

“You should check your phone more often,” Rosa pointed out. “I bet there’s a few calls from Dean on there. About how Cas didn’t come home from the grocery store.”

He went pale and nearly lost his balance. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to find out. But I can’t do that and babysit at the same time, so you need to take this little one and go get hot cocoa or something while I figure it out, okay? Think you could do that?”

He gave an emphatic nod. “Uh, of course. I—thank you.”

“Thank me when he’s safe.”

The three of them walked out into the parking lot, waited until no one was around to see them, and then flew back home. Sam jumped when he saw Yemaya. “What the—”

Rosa didn’t wait to explain it to him. While the Winchesters and Cas didn’t know that their relationship had become sexual, they could probably guess. But it was irrelevant right now. Rosa didn’t do any fighting against the Choir without her goddess girlfriend. The fact that Yemaya waited patiently in the house for Rosa’s return was probably the strangest part about their situation. The two of them took off as soon as possible.

Maya wasn’t omniscient, but she was incredibly fast. She could “check” an area the size of Texas in a few minutes, just by thinking about it. She processed information at about the same rate as full angels—if not faster—and she had no problem finding Cas. He was being held in an abandoned Baptist church, of all places, on the outskirts of the city. Dean hadn’t found it yet. Rosa texted him that Cas was safe and that she was bringing him home. When he asked where his lover was, she didn’t answer.

“It could be a trap,” the witch pointed out. Why else would they kidnap an angel who willingly told them whatever they wanted to know? It was either designed to make her stop or to lure her there. No matter what, Rosa knew they could handle it, but she felt her partner should know.

The goddess nodded slowly. “I should go in alone.”

No way in hell. Rosa and Yemaya were a team now. Just because she wasn’t as powerful didn’t mean she couldn’t contribute. Besides, she loved having an excuse to kick ass. “No. We do this together.”

When they arrived at the old church—a small wooden structure consisting of one large room and only a few tiny secondary spaces—Rosa marveled at how much plainer it was than the Catholic versions. No art all over the walls. No gold. No giant crucifixes. Hell, no crucifixes at all. Just a cross and some white paint, now flaking away from neglect. They tried the door and found it unlocked.

On the inside, the pulpit looked just as unremarkable, as did the altar, the pews—everything. Even what remained of the stained glass was simple, with diluted colors.

But they weren’t there to take in the sights. In the center of it all, between the pews and the back, sat a lowly figure, slumped over and tied to a chair. Blood dripped from his cheek and his nose. His partially torn clothing soaked it in. Thankfully, he seemed to be unconscious.

A man sat near Cas with his back to them, but Rosa knew who it was. “Micah!” she shouted, his name rolling off her tongue like a curse.

Without turning, “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

The heavy doors closed behind them as the two entered. They gradually made their way down the aisle. Yemaya appeared calm, collected. But Rosa was fuming. How dare they touch him? How dare they, knowing what he was, knowing _who_ he was at heart—how dare they lay a finger on him? Her mentor. Her friend. “You’ll burn for what you’ve done,” she growled.

He swiveled in the pew and the women could see he held the angel sword. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, subsisting entirely on a diet of coffee, cigarettes, and maybe even cocaine. This was not the man who came to their door begging, nor was he the punk kid from their loose alliance with the Choir. This was desperation personified. “I’ll burn? What do you think will happen to you, with all that blood on your hands?”

Nothing. Because she wasn’t going to Heaven or Hell. She was going wherever Yemaya was. Simple as that. “That thing can’t kill me, Micah.” she gestured toward the blade. “It kills angels. Not archangels. Besides—” She produced her own sword and lit it up. “—that’s not what I meant by burning. You hurt my friend. Now I’m gonna hurt you.”

In an unusual move, she left Yemaya’s side and rushed at the priest. He was no fighter. And he didn’t expect a quick attack. She easily knocked the blade from his hand as he leveled a weak defense against her. She showed no mercy, first hacking into his arm and then slicing across his stomach. She smelled the flesh and fabric burn. His uninjured hand gripped her blouse at the shoulder—as his intestines spilled onto the floor. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak. The pain must’ve been excruciating. He dropped to his knees. As the light faded from his eyes, tears streamed from them. Moments later, he fell face-first to the floor and stopped breathing.

She looked around for other assailants, but saw none. Did Micah really think he could fight off an archangel and a goddess with a stolen angel sword? Or were there others waiting nearby? Regardless, Rosa rushed to Cas’s side. She didn’t want to touch him at first, he looked so injured. But eventually, she raised his head to have a better look. The act woke him slightly. His eyes opened partway, and he mumbled her name.

Rosa cut the plastic restraints and caught him just in time so that he didn’t hit the floor. She had to get him to Sam, and fast. But she couldn’t fly. And her wings _itched_. She switched to angel sight and spotted blurry lettering all over the inside of the church. Enochian. It stopped her from leaving by angelic means.

“Maya!” she called out. “Come help me with him. I can’t fly.”

But the goddess could seem to advance past the pews. She banged on an invisible barrier but to no avail. Attacking it with her powers on full blast barely made a dent. She put everything she had into fighting it. She disappeared for seconds at a time, only to return, finding no weakness in the blockade.

“Fuck!” Rosa tried to get Cas to his feet, but he was heavier than her. She had to use her movement ability to help, but it immediately put a strain on her energy. Still, she and her mostly unconscious friend stumbled toward the barrier, which only seemed to affect Yemaya. She was just two steps away when her heart stopped.

Literally.

From behind, Emmanuel crept with a sword of his own. One of the special items kept by the Choir. An ancient medieval hunk of metal branded with the seal of the Inquisition. The old man and his team had prepared for this day for months. He knew which floorboards creaked and which didn’t. And he wore no shoes to further conceal himself. When activated, the sword returned to its former glory, rust-free, and it was rumored to kill anything.

He would certainly find out now. The puncture happened just below her shoulder, and the blade nicked her heart. With what little physical strength he possessed, Emmanuel pushed on the pommel with both hands to get the sword further into her body.

“No!” came from Yemaya. It sounded like more than a dozen voices crying out at once. Not even remotely a human voice.

Rosa shoved Cas with her remaining power so that he landed past the barrier.  She looked down at the end of the blade where it protruded from her chest. _Fuck_. She coughed, and blood came up. Emmanuel let go of the sword. Rosa collapsed, hitting one of the pews on her way to the floor. As she lay dying, she heard Maya’s screams as though they were far away. She couldn’t talk past all the blood in her mouth and throat, and the room spun as she quickly exsanguinated. She tried to think, tried to project to the goddess that she loved her. Moments later, she blacked out.


	51. Beyond the Realms of Death

In the next instant, she was back on her feet. The sword was still in the same place, but she ripped it out. It hurt, yet it wouldn’t kill her. When she looked at the wound, there wasn’t any blood. Just a hole. In a sea of energy.

She lived, but her body didn’t. Her angel self and conjoined human soul survived the attack, unbeknownst to the archbishop who was slowly backing away—from her corpse, which lay at Rosa’s feet. She’d apparently gone into a fetal position, half-wrapped around the sword. Rosa looked at her pale skin and the still-pooling blood. Disbelief washed over her.

If Yemaya knew her energy continued on, she didn’t act like it. In fact, she raged beyond anything Rosa had ever seen. The barrier—likely specific to water goddesses or possibly just Yemaya—wasn’t impervious. And an angry, grief-stricken deity could find energy where perhaps she thought there was none. As she pounded against the blockade with everything she had, subtle signs of its imminent failure began to surround Emmanuel, who had now been joined by some of his cronies. Specifically, water poured into the room from cracks in the walls. Rain came down shortly after. The structure began to bend and whine under the weight of all that water.

Ice formed around Emmanuel’s feet until he couldn’t move. He tripped, and Rosa heard one of his legs break. Full compound fracture. She had to smile as he screamed out in pain.

The thugs tried to flee through a side door, but Yemaya froze it shut. They pounded on it anyway, fighting each other to be as far away from the goddess as they could. They only stopped their efforts when the barrier fell. In seconds, Maya ripped the church apart. Wood flew in every direction like a tornado. Some of the projectiles lodged into the men. One particularly gruesome instance involved a board shot through the side of a guy’s face. It didn’t kill him, and he suffered greatly.

Water rose until Rosa’s body began to float. In her incorporeal form, she simply levitated above it. But Cas couldn’t swim or even try in his condition. He would drown in just a few inches of water.

“Cas!” she called to him with her internal voice, as loud as possible.

Yemaya seemed to hear it. She looked around in confusion. “Rosa?!”

The witch didn’t have time to explain. “Save Castiel!” Her companion had every right to be angry and want to kill these bastards, but Rosa couldn’t let her kill Cas, too. It might very well mean a death sentence for the Winchesters. And Avli would be an orphan again.

It took a moment, but Maya’s head cleared enough to open the doors. Water rushed out and took Cas with it. He landed unconscious on relatively soft grass, none the wiser that he’d nearly drowned.

The people who didn’t pass from debris faced an even worse fate. Gradual freezing from the feet up. An incredibly painful way to die. Much worse than a sword to the heart. In a few cases, the limbs broke off and they bled out. But not Emmanuel. Either through design or luck, he didn’t get hit with anything. He had to watch as his body iced up. Feel his nerves on fire. He screamed and begged but Yemaya only slowed down the process. She drifted over to him and watched with satisfaction.

He didn’t die until the frost had already reached his mouth, while internally, his lungs couldn’t pull air in. The archbishop suffocated. One of the thugs managed to survive a little longer by hiding behind the pulpit. Yemaya smashed it to pieces and then pelted him with hail. Blunt force trauma. Internal bleeding, Death would take a while.

With everyone dead or dying, Rosa flew over to Yemaya’s side and placed her hand on the goddess’s arm. “Can you see me?”

It took a moment, but Yemaya switched on her ability to see energy—as opposed to seeing things like a human. She reeled back in surprise. “It didn’t kill you!”

Rosa touched the hole in her chest. “It doesn’t even hurt.” She smiled. “I think they thought it would actually destroy me.”

“I worried it had.”

She leaned in and kissed Maya’s cheek. Both could feel it. “I wouldn’t leave you.” The goddess returned her smile. After a moment of scanning the carnage, Rosa switched gears. “We have to get Cas to Sam. He’s in bad shape and needs healing.”

“I was planning to visit the archdiocese.”

To kill more people.

Rosa shook her head. “I don’t blame you for wanting revenge, but Cas didn’t do anything wrong. And neither did Avli. She deserves to have her father back, and the Winchesters won’t survive without him. Please, Maya.”

Her partner gave a reluctant nod, and turned toward the door. They could just see Cas’s feet outside. “You don’t need to convince me. I will always do as you ask. Let’s go.”

The two went outside. Yemaya physically picked up the wounded angel, and they both flew back to the house.

Drenched in water, only the goddess and her care package appeared to the two worried soulmates. Though Dean did hear the wing flaps, he didn’t really process the information. She carefully set Cas down on the table and looked at Sam. “Heal your angel.”

Sam motioned for his brother to prevent Avli from witnessing Cas’s condition. Then, he hurried over, winced at the sight of him, and quickly began pouring energy in to treat the wounds. “Internal bleeding,” he whispered to himself. “Broken nose. Broken cheekbone. Broken ribs. Bruised, uh—bruised liver. Severely damaged pancreas…” By the time he finished the list, he was crying, and Cas was healed.

Both Sam and his patient were exhausted. Cas slowly got off the table. Dean let Avli go and hug the angel, and they shared a moment together. After, the soulmates embraced Cas and held onto him for a long time. They were so involved with each other that they didn’t even notice someone wasn’t there. It was actually Dean who asked. “Where’s Rosa?”

Yemaya looked to her side, smiled, and then turned to him. “She’s here.”

“No, she’s…” But Cas’s voice trailed off. To his internal sight, he could barely see her, thanks to the brightness of having a demigod in their kitchen. But the colors were different, and Rosa’s power held its own against the flood. But that meant only one thing. Rosa might be here, but her body wasn’t. “Oh, God.”

Sam understood immediately. He could _feel_ the death still lingering, wrapped around Rosa’s remaining self like a cloak. Dean wasn’t far behind in comprehension. “So, she’s dead? But she’s in the room with us?”

“Is she okay?” Cas inquired.

Before Yemaya could respond, Dean did. “She says she’s fine.” He could hear her loud and clear. He gulped. “Emmanuel stabbed her with that sword he was trying to kill Sam with. It did damage, but she’s alive. Kinda.” The older Winchester had angel ears, so it made sense that he could hear an angel speaking. “She says she’s sorry Cas got hurt. She doesn’t think we’re in danger anymore, but she’ll make sure we’re not. She and her—what?!”

When everyone but the goddess looked at him in surprise and bewilderment, he sighed. “Rosa and her _girlfriend_ will protect us.” He snorted. “Never thought in my life I’d hear that.”

Yemaya gave a stern nod of agreement, unconcerned about the revelation. “None of you will be harmed by them again.”

“I take it the people responsible are dead?” came from Sam.

“Very.”

Dean took a long look at Cas. “Good,” was all he had to say. He only caught a flash of how bad his lover got beat up, but he knew it must’ve hurt, and that was enough to deserve their punishment. He would have killed them himself if he could. And that didn’t even take into account Rosa getting murdered as she tried to save him. Of course she would be avenged. If Yemaya hadn’t done it, the Winchesters would. Hell, if it wasn’t for Avli, they might still do it.

The extra news didn’t really affect Sam or Cas, who were still processing the fact that Rosa wouldn’t be around anymore, or at least not in the usual way. The healer probably wouldn’t even see her in person again, or at least not until he died, too. He didn’t always get along with her. But he would miss her. And he appreciated everything she did for them.

Cas was distraught. Without being able to hear her, they could never have conversations like they usually did. He would need to use Dean or, God help him, Yemaya to speak to her, functionally eliminating the private bond they had. “I was bait,” he said morosely.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean replied right away. They were Rosas’s words, though he would have said the same. It was verbatim, and he quickly realized she was using some kind of power or a spell to make him say what she wanted.

“She’s dead because of me.”

Dean scoffed when Rosa did. “No, _you_ almost got dead because of _me_. Because of what I was doing. If you use this as an excuse to be a shithead to yourself, I’m coming back from the grave.”

Everyone looked at Dean like he was possessed—which wasn’t that inaccurate. He grimaced. What could he do about it? With no regard for his discomfort, Rosa continued: “Seriously though, I’m sorry. I let my guard down, and Cas got hurt. When they find the bodies, there won’t be any more danger, because my head was what they wanted.”

With glassy eyes, Cas spoke past his lover to the dead witch. “Will you visit us?”

“Of course. Just, uh—I guess one of the boys would have to pray. And I should be able to hear it. I don’t think regular phones work in the afterlife.”

Dean silently cursed. Since he was around more often, he would probably have to do it a lot of the time. Cas couldn’t. And Sam spent his many of his free moments in hospitals. On top of it all, he would end up her puppet for however long the visit lasted.

But he loved Cas very much, and he knew that outside of him and his brother, Rosa was Cas’s best friend. He mentored her for years, and called upon her whenever he felt they were in over their heads. Sure, he cared more about Avli now, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring about her.

“Where will you go?” the angel continued.

“I’m pretty sure I can go wherever I want. But the short answer is with Maya. We’ll finish what we started and be on our way.”

Though Dean mimicked her mannerisms, he glared at the empty space where she was supposed to be. He didn’t appreciate this one bit. He just wanted to get back to his life and maybe comfort Cas for a little while. Abruptly, she released him, and his whole body relaxed. “Was that really necessary?” he groaned, holding his pounding head. He pointed. “Dude, next time, I just repeat what you said. That was awful.”

“ _Oh, quit whining. At least you didn’t die today._ ”

“Neither did you!” he shouted to a group of people who didn’t hear what she just said. But he told himself he’d just explain it later. “Not cool, Rosa. Not cool.”

“ _I mean, technically, you’ve died more times than I have, and you probably got one more in you, so you win… or lose. Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”_ She laughed. _“Anyway, take care of Cas and Sam. I’ll be around if you need me._ ”

With that, she and Yemaya left for the island palace.

Cas burst out crying. The others moved to his side and consoled him. Little Avli climbed up onto a chair nearby and offered him her favorite plant in its terracotta pot. He gratefully accepted and gave her a sad smile in return.

“It’s okay, Dad. Miss Rosa and Yemaya are happy. So we should be happy, too.”

He sniffed. “Thanks, Avli.”

***

It wasn’t that easy for him. Cas was happy to have his family (and himself) in one piece, and he felt relieved that Rosa would live on in her incorporeal form, but he missed her. He hated that seeing her by himself would mean visiting with a mute. And he couldn’t look at her directly, either. Archangel energy was too powerful. He’d go blind. Without Dean’s help, she may as well be dead to him in the traditional sense.

He could tell his lover didn’t really want to play translator very often.

Apart from his duties with Avli, he withdrew while he mourned. He slept more, huddled up on the couch during the day, and spent some time going through Rosa’s belongings. Her most prized possession went down with her in the church, so he mostly just had jewelry and clothes to sort.

She’d brought no ID to the fight, so she was a Jane Doe down at the city morgue. Emmanuel and Micah _were_ identified, however, and it caused quite a stir for the Catholic church. Officially, they said it was a watermain blast, and that the two were there to consider converting it into their denomination. But the property owner said he was never approached by anyone, so they were trespassing.

And of course, they had strange wounds. The ones to Micah were particularly confusing for authorities, and the medical examiner was able to identify freezer burns on the other bodies. Even the drownings didn’t make sense. The only simple cause of death was Rosa’s, and it implicated the other dead people. The authorities were likely happy to list her as a stabbing victim. Though the implement being a rusty old sword surely caused more questions than answers.

They would never ID her. She hadn’t been arrested even once in her life, so her fingerprints weren’t on file. And no one was looking for her as a missing person. Unless Cas or one of his lovers claimed her body—which would put a world of suspicion on to them—she would eventually be buried in a small municipal grave with just a number to identify her.

The thought devastated Cas, and it haunted him. Rosa handled their own funerals so elegantly. She made sure everyone knew the three of them were important. And they were buried together. His friend deserved just as much care.

He knew she didn’t give a shit about her body and what happened to it. She had bigger and better things on her mind. She might not even lament losing her life. She’d found love, and it didn’t rely on having a human body. Cas could take a small amount of comfort in knowing that she was probably happy, as Avli said, and that she wouldn’t be alone. Hopefully, Yemaya was as kind to her as she seemed to be.

Witnessing the angel’s moroseness, Dean took him out for drinks at a fancy place. It was usually Sam who did this, but he wanted to be the one. Besides, they had good whiskey, so he could put up with the unnecessary pleasantries (and hefty price tag), while Cas drowned his sorrows.

But there was a secondary reason for this trip, beyond comforting him. He had a present. Two drinks in, he pulled a package wrapped in parchment paper out of a backpack and set it on the table. He’d labored to make it look rectangular in order to hide what was inside. Cas looked at him with curiosity. A little tipsy already, he carefully ripped open one end and peered inside. He smiled genuinely for the first time in days. “How did you get this?!”

“They hadn’t put it in as evidence yet. It was just sitting out in the morgue in a plastic bag. Figured you’d like it more than the cops.” He intentionally left out the part where it was sitting on top of Rosa’s corpse.

Cas didn’t dare open the rest of the gift, not in the middle of a bar. But he would once they got home. Rosa would want them to have her blade. Especially since the angel sword was lost in the chaos. They couldn’t turn it on, but the sentimental value alone would be more than enough reason to keep and cherish it. He held the present to his chest as a tear rushed town his cheek.

Reaching across the table, Dean wiped it away. He followed up with a kiss. “Shh. C’mon. Don’t cry on me.” He hated seeing him upset.

It took a few moments, but Cas eventually pulled himself together. He took a long drink. “Thank you.”

They stayed for a couple more rounds before drunkenly taking a cab home. When they arrived, Sam was cleaning up a checkers game. Avli had already gone to bed. Cas opened the package and set the sword on the counter for him to see. He raised both eyebrows but said nothing. The two intoxicated men stumbled upstairs to have a little extra fun.

***

For days, Rosa and Yemaya simply traveled the world together. The goddess had been lax in her duties to her worshippers (the ones not sleeping with her), so the witch tagged along as her partner cured infertile women, magically protected dozens of pregnancies, saved a group of people from drowning in a shipwreck, and gave some fisherman a good catch. Only the most devout believers were rewarded. Because they made offerings and prayed and put in the time, these people’s lives changed.

Sometimes there were atheists and members of other religions amongst Yemaya’s chosen few. Rosa encouraged her to save and help them, as well. They might be convinced to join the cause if they saw her work in action.

At the end of a whirlwind tour, the two retired to Yemaya’s palace, which existed in both the real and energy worlds. It was a second home once, now the only one.

The halls were tall and long, and in them they met deceased members of her religion. Individuals. Couples. Whole families. Together and interacting with each other. It was more like a town center or street market than like the alcoves of Heaven. People came and went in different areas as they pleased. They could go swimming. They dined on their favorite foods. They had sex in private. They could have whatever they wanted.

Provided that they did no harm to the others.

It was a sort of loose utopia where everyone continued on as a collective and their goddess routinely visited.

By now, word of her consort had reached many ears. There were whispers at first, some negative, but the people loved their leader. They wouldn’t dare question her wisdom. If Yemaya wanted Rosa, she must be powerful and special. In time, they might even worship her, too.

She felt uncomfortable under the stares. But today, was a little different. As she walked with Maya, their gown-like attire swirling behind them, a couple children ran up and hugged Rosa. She thought it terrible that there were children here—instead of, you know, being alive—but they didn’t give her much time to be sad. “Rosa, Rosa! Please come see our drawings!”

The witch looked to Yemaya for guidance, and she nodded. For the first time inside the palace, Rosa parted from her goddess. She followed the two youngsters into a room that ostensibly belonged to them and was used for their art-making. Inside, there where drawings of differing abilities, mostly featuring Yemaya, the palace, and loved ones. But each of the kids had now drawn the deity with her girlfriend, wearing the silky flowing outfits and holding hands.

Underneath their likenesses were the words “ _Yemoja_ ” and “ _Rosa - Yemoja’s Wife_ ” respectively.

_Wife?_ That was cute. She didn’t know what her title would or should be, but she could accept “wife.” It flattered her. People thought she was the powerful water goddess’s betrothed. But why not? The goal of marriage was to stay together for as long as possible, right? And that’s what both of them wanted. In that way, they were already married. Perhaps they could hold a ceremony down the line. It would be magnificent.

In the meantime, Rosa was just happy that they accepted her. Some of the people here were thousands of years old. She worried that they simply wouldn’t understand how their deity could be in love with a woman. But it didn’t seem to be a problem, at least not anymore.

After what could have been ages socializing, the two retired to their hilltop bedroom. It would be their first rest since Rosa died. But sleep wasn’t on either of their minds. And Maya had a very specific plan. She never wanted Rosa to take the lead or to really pleasure her. Now, she all but insisted. “Nothing holds you back,” the goddess explained, “I want to receive your touch, in all its forms. Our energies combining, if only for a few moments.”

“You’ll let me give you an orgasm?” She was genuinely surprised. And deeply aroused at the idea.

Maya nodded. “In a way that we could never do before.”

Rosa smiled wide and pulled the goddess over to their bed. She began kissing her voraciously. After making short work of her partner’s dress, she climbed on top of her and straddled her at the waist. Her hands moved over the deity’s human body, touching every part of her. Rosa’s own form was a projection of her soul—like everyone else in the palace—but Maya could feel it, not only like in life but better.

Every place they met was electric. Three kinds of energy rubbed against each other. Soul, angel, and goddess. And both experienced a physical sensation too.

“Holy shit!” Rosa felt her hands tingle. “This is incredible.”

Another nod. “I have been waiting for this. I hoped to wait a little longer, but I must admit I’m glad. To have you. You’re a master of energy use, Rosa. Please, show me what you can do.”

Indeed, she was. More than anyone she’d heard of, she could manipulate energy into vibrations, heat, and various spells—all of which could be helpful in sex with a deity. She began with soft but firm pulses of power emanating from her hands. The energy pushed passed the physical and into Yemaya’s ethereal body.

She let out a breath in enjoyment. Her back arched off of the bed a little, and she gripped Rosa’s arms. Moaning, “Like that. Just like that.”

But Rosa had a few more tricks up her sleeve. If pulsating created a positive reaction, then surely gentle vibration would, too. So, she did both, and watched as her partner’s eyes rolled back into her head. She gave another deep moan. “Rosa,” was all she could say.

The witch might not know everything about two women getting together, but she did know energy. She knew how to combine it and twist it and bend it to her will. She used her own angel power in the current endeavor, with a little Earth energy to fill in the gaps. But she quickly found that she could manipulate Yemaya’s true form, as well. Just a little. Just enough to mix it with her own.

Maya was howling by the time Rosa decided to do anything particularly physical. In this respect, she simply mimicked what had been done to her a dozen times. A couple fingers inside. An expertly applied thumb. A kiss between her legs with a long and deliberate use of tongue.

While the physical was easily eclipsed by the energy-related ecstasy, it didn’t go unnoticed. And Yemaya was proud to have been such a good teacher! She knew it wasn’t really part of Rosa’s capability. Or at least it didn’t used to be. But after a couple months of gentle touching and not-so-gentle climaxing, the witch got the gist. It wasn’t unlike pleasuring herself. She just had to figure out what Maya liked—which seemed to be everything—and then do it.

Along the way, she found the abrasions between her energies and her companion’s to be weirdly enjoyable, too. Like mixing the ingredients to make cookies or a cake. They were so different, and yet they wanted to combine, to make something new and exciting. Provided that someone added a little heat.

Rosa made sure that she kept up her magical caresses as she continued working with her mouth. Yemaya gripped the back of her head, but did so loosely. It wasn’t a command to keep going so much as a plea. Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.

By all accounts, she was close already. Her human body certainly looked like one ready to orgasm. Muscles tight, legs stiff, and of course the wetness. The goddess of water still needed stimulation to produce her own natural lubricant, and she got it from Rosa. The reward was substantial. It helped her slip a third finger in and go deeper shortly after. The noises she made—oh, they were wonderful. Rosa liked being in control, and now she got it. She felt Yemaya come, on multiple levels, as she endeavored to make it the best sexual encounter the goddess experienced.

It was so good, it began to rain outside. A side effect of a pleased water deity. Her physical reaction lasted more than a minute. The undulations of her energy went on for closer to five. Rosa watched with pride. The most powerful being she’d ever met just got off by her hand. If she didn’t already feel strong and encouraged, this session left no doubt. She wasn’t a god. But she could make one do things no one else even dreamed of.

When it was all over, the two cleaned off with just a thought before settling in for a solid cuddle session. “That was incredible,” Rosa said after moving in close.

Maya grinned and kissed her softly. “I was going to say that.”

“Too slow.”


	52. Dream On

They rented out a ranch back in South Dakota for this day in early Spring. It was a simple place. A big open field with a line of trees at the far end. No staff or catering or anything like that. The small number of attendees handled everything. But it was no less beautiful.

Four months prior, Dean had finally gotten up the courage to ask Cas to marry him. For real. The angel accepted before he even finished his speech. But he didn’t stop there. He turned to his soulmate and asked, with an ounce more confidence, if he would participate in the ceremony. The three couldn’t legally marry, but they could have a wedding together. They could celebrate being a unified force in this world. And they could throw one hell of a party in their honor.

Though Sam made it clear that he would be okay if Cas and Dean had legal vows (he could always be Best Man), both wanted him to be on equal footing. They got tired of pretending he wasn’t just as important to them, and anyway, there wouldn’t be anyone there who would get upset.

In attendance were the Singers, of course—with Ellen’s relative Sarah becoming officiant once again—and Avli, who was the flower girl and ringbearer combined. Garth, Rufus, Frank, and a handful of hunters who remembered the trio from their healing days also showed up (though some of them needed explanations as to how the trio were even alive). Jo, Ellen’s daughter, couldn’t make the ceremony thanks to being eight months pregnant with her second child. She’d long since settled down with a nice man—nice enough to pass the Singers’ intense scrutiny. She sent her best wishes along with a small gift.

Everyone involved with the wedding was given a job to make the event a success, be it setting up chairs and tents, cooking and preparing food, or managing decorations.

Ellen was in charge of the food, and she insisted the attendees all bring something specific like a side or a dessert. Frank, who helped with the tents, arrived with a batch of store-bought cookies. Rufus brought his famous green bean casserole, and Garth scored some candy flowers for last-minute placement on the homemade cake. Those were a special request from Sam, since Cas loved sugar so much.

Real flowers were arranged on the two big tables where everyone would eat. All three men also wore corsages, and Avli had a crown made of them. They used simple, white magnolia and dogwood flowers—locally sourced from people’s yards—with silver accents. Their outfits matched. Each wore a three-piece black suit with vests in different shades of silver. White shirts, silver ties, black shoes. They didn’t walk down the aisle so much as assemble in their location near the trees. Dean and Cas faced each other while Sam stood at their sides, looking at the officiant.

In total, there were fifteen people in the audience, sitting in two rows. This setup left one chair empty, next to Frank, who enjoyed the extra leg room. And anyway, he didn’t really know the others that well.

The service itself was beautiful but brief. What could they say to each other that hadn’t already been said a thousand times? Still, they each found a few words for their partners about love and devotion and happiness. Six vows in total. Three firm kisses. Three gold rings, given out at the end. Dean put on Cas’s, Cas put on Sam’s, Sam put on Dean’s. They couldn’t stop smiling.

Anyone who might have had reservations about the ceremony put them aside when they saw how happy the men were. They clapped and cheered when it was all over. The trio headed into the main tent where the celebrations would begin while the others milled around a little, talking mostly about the feast to come.

Bobby noticed that Frank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Before he could say anything, the guy explained himself. “Why do I feel like something’s sitting next to me?”

The old man looked at the empty chair with suspicion. “Well, hell, there might be.”

“What?”

“You’d have to ask the angel to be sure, but I’d reckon that girl Rosa might make an appearance. Which is to say, be here and not be here at the same damn time.” He sighed. “They told you she kicked the bucket, right? I guess death didn’t do terribly much to stop her. Now don’t go telling anybody we got a ghost here, or they’ll get out the salt guns.” When he agreed, “Anyway, Dean can hear her, but Cas, well, he can see her if he puts his mind to it. Might be worth bringin’ up.”

Frank stared at the spot next to him for a moment before getting up and backing away. “Stabbed, right?” News could travel fast amongst hunters, provided they wanted it to.

“Sword through the heart.”

“Damn.”

“They were real broken up about the whole thing, so go easy on them if you mention it.” He scratched at his head. The wedding was one of the few times in his entire life that he wore a suit and tie without it being a disguise (the trio’s funeral being another, as well as his own nuptials). And he was expressly forbidden from donning a hat. Without one, he felt naked.

Frank, on the other hand, wore a cheap rental tux with a wrinkled shirt. He tried his best, but he wasn’t really good at this kind of stuff. Socializing. Acting proper. His attempts to reconnect with his daughter had been largely unsuccessful—she barely recognized him. So, he ended up in a small apartment in Denver under a new identity. He did a few hunts now and then but mostly worked a job managing construction workers. He tried to stay under the radar, since he was still a wanted man. To that end, he drove to the event instead of flying in order to avoid extra scrutiny.

He was somewhat surprised to receive the invite, since he’d only known the three for a short period of time. But it seemed they didn’t have a lot of trusted friends. He enjoyed being included, and he wanted to help however he could.

With an uneasy smile, he left Bobby and ducked into the tent. The others filed in shortly after, as a light rain began to fall. Before taking his seat, Frank found Castiel, put his hand on the angel’s upper arm, and whispered: “I can’t be sure, but I think your friend Rosa’s here. I think she’s been here the whole time.”

Cas’s eyes widened. He looked around for a moment, then his expression went blank as he switched to his other sight. He took an involuntary step back and blinked a few times. Then, he smiled. “Yeah.” After a pause, “How did you know?”

“I have no idea.” Intuition maybe, or she was just that powerful that she affected the people around her. He wasn’t psychic—that, he knew for sure.

“Thanks for telling me,” he replied in a soft voice. “I appreciate it.”

Moments later, Avli came running up and hugged Cas. Frank gave the angel a nod before taking his seat with some of the other hunters. He marveled at how natural fatherhood seemed to him. He wasn’t even capable of having children, in multiple ways, but here he was, bringing up a little girl. It seemed so easy for him. Frank watched as Castiel tapped the girl on the nose and adjusted her crown.

Not much time was spent on trivial elements. Bobby gave a short speech about the trio, toasting to them with sparkling apple juice (which Avli also had). Dean was too overcome with happiness to say much in terms of a thank you, so Sam did. He let everyone know how grateful they were to the people who came and instructed the group to go get some food.

After everyone was stuffed, a few danced. Each of the three had individual time, starting with Dean and Cas. The former couldn’t stop grinning while the latter was just content to rest his chin on his lover’s shoulder. “Is this everything you wanted?” he asked towards the end of their turn.

Dean nodded. “And then some.”

The angel switched with Sam and watched as the two soulmates seamlessly fell into step with each other. Dancing wasn’t a major part of their lives, but they did it well enough. When it was his turn with the healer, he leaned against the man’s chest. They spent a little while longer together, as Cas felt Sam deserved the extra attention. They kissed a few times, and generally just got really close to each other.

Bobby leaned in to speak to Dean. “Well, isn’t that something.” When the older Winchester gave a look of confusion, he clarified. “They get along so well. Don’t think that ain’t your doing. If not for you, they wouldn’t be together, right?”

He blinked. “I guess, yeah.” After all, they got together long after he ended up with both of them. With the passage of time, he’d almost forgotten they didn’t all decide to be together at once. “But they did it on their own. It was just—the thing that was missing. Now, it’s like we’ve always been this way. At least that’s how it feels.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” he confirmed, looking over at Ellen, who was involved in a conversation with Sarah. “That’s the best part.”

Once the round of three dances ended, others joined in. Bobby and Ellen and some of the hunters. Even Frank got in an exchange with a lovely woman he just met. Dean spent a surprising amount of time with his companions, throwing embarrassment to the wind.

Eventually, the three cut the first piece of cake, and everyone had dessert. The reception stretched deep into the night as people settled in with booze or cigars or just good conversation. The crowd thinned slowly until just Frank, Bobby, Ellen, Avli—who tired out about an hour earlier—and the three remained. They headed to Bobby’s house for the night.

In the morning, they said their goodbyes and made the trek back to Seattle. Upon their return, Cas and Dean signed real marriage papers. In their minds, they were officially married to Sam, as well, and always would be, but they wanted the legal benefits. And some proof of their love for each other. Sam insisted it didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. He was happy to see them happy. Functionally, nothing changed. He still had them as much as they had each other.

Content to settle into a normalized life, the three returned to their routine in their little house in the city. Eventually, Sam got a job as a medical technician, where he “accidentally” bumped into some of the patients or brushed against their hands, healing surreptitiously while also handling paperwork and phone calls. Cas stayed at home with Avli, and Dean took a part-time gig as a mechanic where they were flexible and understanding of his illness. The rest of their lifestyle was supported by fake credit cards and the occasional fraudulent deposit from Bobby.

As they watched Avli grow up, they received regular visits from Rosa, where she updated them on her exploits in the afterlife. They moved into a larger house with a big yard and kept in touch with Bobby, Frank, and the others. But they gave up hunting in favor of happiness and a shot at a long life.


End file.
